Latura of Redwall, 2nd Iteration: Of Prophets and Kings
by Highwing
Summary: "With subsequent drawings of the fractal curve, sudden changes may appear...Details emerge more clearly as the fractal curve is redrawn...Inevitably, underlying instabilities begin to appear...Flaws in the system will now become severe...System recovery may prove impossible." - Ian Malcolm
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE: SLEEPERS RISING**

The kingdom of Southsward sprawled across the southern reaches of the lands, encompassing nearly as much territory as Mossflower itself. Woodlands and forests deep, open plains and gentle meadows, sandy desert and rock-strewn wastes, rolling hills and soaring mountains, all fed by lakes and rivers and streams and springs, and a stretch of varied seacoast which afforded several fine trader ports.

Situated at the center of it all, perched high atop elevated crags of its own, sat Castle Floret, ruled over since time immemorial by the Squirrel Kings and Queens, just as the lines of Badger Lords and Ladies ruled Salamandastron.

But if Floret and the lands immediately surrounding the castle devoted themselves to matters of rule and aristocracy, much of Southsward lay outside that sphere, its residents of all species flung to the far corners of the kingdom, concerning themselves little with what went on in gilded halls and banquets and ballrooms, focused upon the farming of their plots and hauling of their nets and lines, the crafting of their wares and the tailoring of their clothes, the tending of their sick and elderly and the raising of their children. The most some ever saw of the central authority was when the otter patrols passed through once or twice each season, maintaining the security of the common good and collecting tribute to bear with them back to Floret. Otherwise, most of Southsward consisted of ordinary creatures leading ordinary lives, far removed from the pomp and intrigues of the royal court, and from the affairs of the privileged and powerful.

00000000000

"A fine tideline haul it is," Merris declared as she stood admiring the two wicker bushels crowding her kitchen table, each piled past its brim with gray-shelled clams. "King Fael will have nothing to complain about from us this season!"

Her husband Koren readily agreed, swiping his paws together to rid them of the residue from his packing work. "Indeed not. No sea otter clamming crew could have done a better job of filling these baskets! The tidal flats were most generous in their yield this time around, and working out along the wet sands held a special kind of quiet bliss this day. All was silent down there except for the soft kiss of the waves lapping the shore. It seemed as if the whole rest of the world had fallen into a hush as I toiled with my shovel."

"Oh?" For the briefest of moments a shadow of concern crossed the mousewife's face - rumors from other distant reaches of Southsward about dark happenings when the lands along the Western Sea grew improperly quiet. But Merris shook it off in the face of their fortuitous bounty. "Well, speaking of otters, I just hope Dawton's patrol heads back this way in good time to pick them up and get them back to Floret while they're still nice and fresh."

Koren laughed off this concern. "I'm not worried. He promised when he passed through two days ago that he'd be swinging back our way sometime this morning, and that riverdog's always shown himself a beast of his word. Besides, that's why I went with clams instead of shrimp or fish; they come in nature's own hard-shelled packaging, and they travel much better!"

The two mice dwelt in a tiny village of fewer than a dozen simple homesteads overlooking the Western Sea from the high dunes. Here, mouse and hedgehog and mole shared good times and bad, bolstered by each other's presence and supported by their pools of common skills. When there was carpentry or stonework to be done or garments to be sewn and mended, food to be gathered or grown and meals to be prepared or ills to be tended, all these abilities and more resided in this modest group of families. Too small and tucked away to draw the attention of sea raiders, they'd all resided here in this place for many seasons, secure in their connections to Floret, however tenuous, and largely untroubled by the wider world beyond beyond their sandy shores.

"Don't forget, I've got the Billerspine twins to sit for today," Merris reminded her husband. "If our good otter Dawton doesn't get here soon, I'll have to head over to their lodge, and leave you here alone to deal with our ruddertailed friends."

"That's all right, Mer, I'm perfectly capable of - "

A sudden scream from somewhere outside cut Koren off in mid-sentence.

The two mice stiffened, gazes locked as their faces froze into masks of alarmed fear. "That ... that sounded like Stickler," Koren breathed.

Then other screams and shouts joined the first, some cut off as quickly as they'd begun - the day's preternatural calm shattered in the worst possible way.

"Stay here," Koren ordered Merris, grabbing up the sword he sometimes wore but never used. "I've got to see what this is about."

The mouse husband never had time to join his fellow villagers in screaming, cut down even as he raced outside into the morning sun.

Merris stood paralyzed in terror, paw to her mouth, as she beheld the nightmare at the threshold. The shimmery-scaled monster studied her with its outward-bulging, rotating eyes, a cold visage from another world. Then it lunged at her, moving faster than the eye could follow, scimitar raised high.

A very short time later, the twin baskets of clams had the plain kitchen all to themselves, left behind in favor of meat wrapped in warm, furred flesh.

00000000000

Skipper Dawton of Holt Bluesnake stood atop the rocky prominence overlooking the shores, heavy whiskers wrinkling in distaste at the sight of the searat ships anchored just to the north. Although the frigate and the galleon lay at rest upon the coastal swells as they had for many days, flanked by their two attendant messenger craft, enough of their red, black and green canvases stood unfurled like a tricolored provocation, a proclamation that the Searat King was here in Southsward, and that all should take notice.

Dawton spat over the edge of the ridge, his indignant gob landing in the sands far below. Bad enough that the searats had, for many seasons now, maintained their lumber yards somewhere farther to the north, fortified with enough barbaric soldiery to repel any assault the King might dare to muster against them. But now these warships, stationed right at the mouth of the river leading almost directly to Floret itself ... and the smaller landing boat and its contingent, who'd actually followed the broadstream up that winding course to the castle, making their claims of diplomatic overtures. As if searats could be trusted ...

Well, that was King Fael's affair. Let His Highness determine what was to be done with these unbidden envoys. If there was one thing Fael was good at, it was dispensing with creatures he deemed not worth his time.

The otter turned to his companions. "Come on, let's shake our rudders, lads. We've got a village waitin' on us, an' if those mice 'n' moles 'n' 'hogs're as good as their boasts, we'll have a treasure trove of the sea's finest to grace His Majesty's tables when we get back!"

The dozen or so river otters filed down from the lookout ridge and passed along loamy trails weaving in and out of pine woods with carpets of soft needles underpaw, sometimes hidden by the trees and sometimes open to the sea on their right. At last they broke out into the high dunes of the nameless village where they were expected ... but they did not expect what greeted them there.

The blood on the sands was their first foretaste of something being very very wrong here. Then there was the total absence of any activity, which itself bespoke a dire warning; in all his many visits to this settlement, Dawton had never once seen it without at least one or two of the villagers out and about, tending to something or other.

"Sir," whispered an otter named Bludder, on account of his blunt rudder, "listen. The birds've all gone quiet ... even the insects too. 'Tis still as death."

Dawton softly swore. "It's happened again."

Every otter's lance came out as they grimly advanced into the deserted village, senses keyed and nerves on a knife edge.

If the splotches and splashes of blood on the sand were bad, the ones indoors were even worse. Several of the domiciles bore clear evidence of massacre and slaughter, of a level of violence difficult to conceive being unleashed against largely unarmed family beasts.

Bludder led the last of the scouts back to rejoin the main group. "They're all gone, sir. Not a beast left. The fiends have claimed the entire village."

Dawton gripped his lance like a simmering berserker as he digested this grim report. "This's the worst yet. They're gettin' bolder, brasher, whatever the fur they are. An entire village ... this has got to stop."

"King Fael can't ignore these attacks any longer," another otter called Noke asserted. "He'll have no choice but to raise a force to deal with it."

"Deal with what?" Bludder countered. "We don't even know what we're up against. No tracker who's tried t' hunt down these marauders has ever come back, so nobeast who's seen 'em has lived to tell."

Dawton worked his jaw. "'Fraid our Royal Highness only sees what's right in front of him, an' these attacks lie far enough from Floret that he can't see 'em as any great concern."

"Well, we gotta make 'im see, then!"

"Agreed. Back to the boats, mateys - we got some hard rowin' t' do, an' I mean hard!"

"We headin' back to Floret to report this?" Bludder asked.

"Nay, not until we've got sumpthin' t' show His Majesty that he can't ignore. It's back to the Bluesnake fer us - I'm mustering the entire holt, an' our neighborin' holts too. We're gonna hold ourselves a hunt of our own - see if we can't turn the hunters into the hunted!"


	2. Chapter I

**I.**

 **GRAYFOOT'S TAVERN**

Vanessa's head popped up out of the tavern's floor. "I see your cellars remain well-stocked ... and that you've started a modest brewing operation of your own."

Grayfoot, seated with Tolar at the table nearest the open hatch, nodded at the inquisitive Abbess. "Aye, t'was allers a fair paw at brewin' up in the North, when my officer's duties allowed. One o' th' reasons Lord Urthblood reckerned I might make a fair go of it down here in Mossflower with my own inn. After all th' help you fine folk gave me in stockin' my starter inventory, figgered I ought at least be able t' turn out some basic ales of my own so as not t' rely entirely on Redwall. Mebbe once I've got a few casks o' that brewed up t' my satisfaction, I'll try my paw at sumpthin' more challengin', like p'raps a cordial or some simple wine."

"Yes, I saw you spending a lot of time with Balla during your most recent visit to our home." Vanessa climbed the stairs and stepped up onto the wood floor of the ground level. "Picking her brain for more advanced recipes, I take it?"

Grayfoot nodded. "Didn't spend half th' time with 'er as I would've liked, what with ev'rything else goin' on there durin' our stay. But she was able t' gimme a few more pointers an' show me a few more things t' help me along, so I was grateful fer th' time she could spare me. As fer my other stocks, well, business ain't never 'xactly taken off fer me. Think I've thrown back as much as my customers have. At this rate, it'll still be another season or two 'fore I'm askin' fer any more o' Redwall's brandy, sherry or rum." The ferret shot a glance toward the Realms stacked on the table between him and the fox Sword. "'Specially if this new payment system scares travellers away ... "

A long-eared figure followed Vanessa up out of the cellar; Colonel Clewiston had insisted on accompanying the Abbess on this overnight trip, and was seldom to be seen far from her side. Gazing around at all the weasels and foxes filling the tables of the tavern's single main room, most nursing beverages of one kind or another, he drolly remarked, "You've no jolly shortage of filled chairs now, chap. Maybe you should start by chargin' this lot, wot?"

Several of the lounging weasels turned looks of disfavor upon the hare at this suggestion.

Vanessa helped herself to a seat at Grayfoot and Tolar's table, while Clewiston took up arms-folded station standing behind her. "So, are we almost finished here? As comfortable as your guest beds upstairs are - which is only to be expected, since they were built by Redwallers - I'm eager to be back at the Abbey well before evening. One night away from my home at a time is all I feel I can spare these days."

Tolar regarded her with a measured gaze. "Why the hurry, Abbess? You're no longer Abbess, so your responsibilities are minimal. In fact, just what are your responsibilities and title, now that Geoff has resumed the Abbot's chair?"

Vanessa flashed a wry smile. "I'm sure I'll find ways to keep myself occupied, Sword."

Tolar returned his gaze to the Realms piled on the tabletop, and then to the additional coins arrayed upon the bar. "I'm worried about security myself; that's a concern we'd not fully considered before. Even though we're only leaving a small portion of the minting here with you, Captain, it still represents a sizable value. If word gets out once you start distributing them - which is, after all, the entire idea - it might attract the wrong elements, eager to take it all for themselves."

Clewiston blew out one side of his whiskers in derision. "Naught to worry about there, friend. No honest creature of Mossflower's likely to buy into wot you're tryin' t' sell them here, which leaves only the vermin sorts - an' you've got those all under your command already, wot?"

Tolar eyed the hare. "There are still wicked beasts aplenty in Mossflower, Colonel. That horde where your rats came from, for starters. Just because they don't bother you at Redwall doesn't mean they're not out there."

"The Colonel does have a point, Sword," Vanessa said. "If the woodlanders of this region refuse to accept the Realm as currency, that means the only creatures who'll be using them will be those in Urthblood's service. So if some brigands do come along and relieve Grayfoot of his entire treasury, the only place they'd be able to use them is with you and the Gawtrybe. They'd have to turn themselves in to you in order to spend what they stole."

Tolar showed mild umbrage at this suggestion. "I sincerely hope this economic overture will not be rejected by _all_ the residents of central Mossflower - or that you will not seek to convince them to do so."

Vanessa feigned exaggerated innocence. "Who, us? You've got us bottled up inside our own walls. However would we accomplish such a thing?"

"Only your rats are bottled up there; the rest of you are free to come and go as you please."

Now Vanessa flashed a devilish grin. "Then maybe you'd better stop giving me ideas!"

Tolar scowled and turned away from the goadsome Abbess. "I'm wondering whether it might be a good idea to station a couple of my brigade foxes here for a little added protection, now that you no longer have any Gawtrybe permanently assigned here. What do you think, Captain?"

Grayfoot shrugged. "Up t' you, Sword. Gawtrybe still swing by here oft 'nuff to serve as a deterrent, as do Cap'n Choock's shrews. An' don't ferget, I still know how t' wield a decent blade m'self. Don't reckon I'd need any o' yer squad, but if you wager it's necessary, yer call."

"Maybe we could send some Redwallers down to help babysit all your precious coinage," Vanessa offered. "In the spirit of neighborliness."

Tolar couldn't tell whether she was joking. "As long as it's not any hares, who are likely to go hurling our Realms all over the Captain's establishment."

"Oh pish," said Clewiston.

"I think we can safely avoid that, since all our Long Patrol will I'm sure prefer to remain at Redwall for purposes of Abbey defense. Perhaps some of Balla's hedgehog assistants, who can help Grayfoot with his brewing and distilling, along with a stout mole or two?"

"A mole? I thought all your moles were out at the quarry, Abbess?"

"A few stayed on, for handybeast needs. Can't expect Cyril to shoulder all those responsibilities, especially now that he's got Jiriel so much on his mind. And as for the rest of the moles, it won't take them forever to finish their quarrying. They'll be back sooner or later, and I'm guessing they'd look upon a detail here as a nice little vacation. Funny thing about moles: they're seen by other species as soft and quaint, but you don't want to get on the bad side of a seasoned diggerbeast, no you don't."

"Er, thank you for the offer, Abbess, but if it's all the same, I think we'll stick with professional fighting beasts. The right creature for the right job, you know."

"As you wish, Sword."

Judelka chose that moment - or perhaps the moment was chosen for her - to stick her head in through the tavern's rear door. "Gray! Gray, yer son's outta paw out here!"

"'m kinda busy 'ere, Judy. Can't you manage th' li'l ripsnort?"

"Needs 'is daddy's strong paw! Come now!"

Grayfoot sighed. "Sorry, Sword. When Percy gets t' cuttin' up, he c'n be a right liddle terror. 'scuse me."

"Of course. We were nearly finished here anyway."

Grayfoot rose and disappeared into the rear of his tavern. Vanessa pushed back her own chair and stood to follow. "That ferretlad's so cute when he misbehaves! I'm going to go see what he's up to now. No need to follow, Colonel; I could use a break from you hovering over me. Keep my seat warm - I'll be right back!"

When the former ferret captain stepped out into the sunlit meadow behind his tavern, he found Percival sitting sedately in the grass, intently studying a caterpillar inching its way along a fallen branch, with no hint of rambunctiousness in evidence anywhere.

"Judelka is very easy to influence," Vanessa said as she stopped alongside Grayfoot. "A refreshing change from Latura. Those foxes and weasels haven't been giving us much chance to speak privately. So, have you considered our proposal?"

"You mean yers an' th' Colonel's? I dunno, Abbess. Anything like that'd be hard t' pull off if there's foxes stationed here, like Tolar was just suggestin'."

"I'm working on that. Assume there won't be a Foxguard contingent here. What would you say then?"

"There's still th' Gawtrybe. They worry me more'n Tolar's crew, truth be told."

"Yes, they are quite the fanatics, aren't they? And they just might be liable to track any rat fugitives they're shadowing right to your door. But the beauty of this arrangement is that no fugitive would need to spend more than a very brief time in your tavern before being sent on its way again, so that if the Gawtrybe are watching, you'll be able to claim you sent them off without rendering any aid or assistance. You denied them safe haven, as Urthblood and Custis would expect of you. We well appreciate the importance of providing plausible deniability in all of this."

"Yah - except if any of those rats do get stopped after leaving here, they'll be found bearin' packs an' supplies I gave 'em."

"Supply packs you had prepared for your family's own use, which the brazen thieves took from you by force or threat. And if any apprehended rat dares to say otherwise, well, rats are notorious liars, aren't they? I'm sure that would be the view of any Gawtrybe squirrel - and who are they to believe, a desperate robber or an upstanding former top officer of Lord Urthblood's forces?"

"Heh. You make it sound very safe, marm. But it'd be anything but, wouldn't it?"

"It's entirely up to you, Captain. We'll not force or pressure you into anything you're uncomfortable doing. But the Colonel seemed pretty sure your feelings were leaning this way. If true, know that we'll be on your side and provide whatever assistance we can."

"Yeah, but I'll still be th' one on th' front lines if things go awry. But let's see how things go t'day, an' then we'll know better ... "

A short time later, having concluded their arrangements with Grayfoot, Tolar led his foxes and weasels north along the main road on their way back to Redwall. Haddican, marching at his Sword's side, suddenly looked up as if something had only just occurred to him. "Sir, we didn't leave any foxes behind at the tavern, did we?"

Tolar gave a dazed blink, then was himself again. "No, I decided it wasn't necessary. Grayfoot's a capable fighter himself, and with the Gawtrybe and our shrews abroad in Mossflower, I doubt he'll encounter any trouble he'll not be able to handle. Better to save his guest rooms for paying customers - if he gets any. But there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

Vanessa and Clewiston ambled along behind the main company, which was easy to arrange. Able to speak freely without fear of being overheard, as long as they kept their voices low, they assessed the success of their overnight excursion.

"So, how d' you rate that went?" the hare queried.

"I was able to convince Tolar not to quarter any of his foxes or weasels at Grayfoot's, so that's half the battle right there. Our ferret friend remains leery about the whole thing, but I think he'll come around. Once we start sending down some help with the spare supplies he'll need, I trust he'll fully commit."

"I'm worried 'bout staying in touch with the chap, m'self. Even if all these brushtails 'n' weasel-faces go back to Foxguard an' have the good grace t' stay there, they'll still be able to spot all our comin's an' goin's from that tower of theirs."

"From what Tolar says, the Gawtrybe spend more time up on that observation deck these days than his own foxes do."

"Hardly improves matters, wot? Maybe even worse, all things considered. 'Tween that skyscrapin' spytower an' all Urthblood's other minions - squirrels, birds, shrews an' who knows what else - we'll not be able t' send as much as a single Sparra messenger Grayfoot's way without out enemy knowin' about it."

"Which is why all appearances of secrecy are best avoided, to prevent raising suspicions. And why hedgehogs make the most sense; they'd have the cover excuse of helping Grayfoot with his brewing. They should be able to come and go without attracting undue notice."

"As sensible a proposition as any, I s'pose. Not sure why you brought up moles, tho'."

"No less likely creatures to raise suspicions as moles, are there? If we're to pull this off, discretion will have to be our byword. Moles and hedgehogs fit the bill perfectly, so that's what we'll use."

"No hares tho', hm?"

"As Tolar pointed out, he's afraid of his precious Realms being flung all over the saloon. Your speed would be useful, but sparrows are even faster, if we're ever faced with a situation where speed is of the essence. You Long Patrol are too conspicuous, especially after your clash with Urthblood's forces out in the Plains. And speaking of conspicuous, did you really feel it necessary to accompany me on this little jaunt? One might conclude you don't completely trust me."

"It's not that, marm. Er ... just didn't seem right lettin' you outta our sight for so long, comin' all the way down here in the company of possible enemies ... "

"Not enemies, not if I have anything to say about it. And I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, Colonel. I swear, you're as bad as Maura was when she first found out, hovering over me so that I couldn't even take a blessed breath in peace!"

"Maybe she had th' right bally idea, consid'rin' wot's at stake."

Vanessa gave a sly grin. "If that's the way you really feel, Colonel, then you're going to simply love what I have in mind next!"

 **THE _STRONGANCHOR_**

"What's that sound?"

After two days at sea aboard the _Stronganchor_ , Alexander finally felt he was growing some sea legs and becoming accustomed to the ways of wave and wake - even if his primary duty so far had been to stay out of the crew's way while they saw to the proper running of the ship. Still, everything he'd absorbed through sight, sound, smell and feel had imbued him with a fairly solid sense of how things were supposed to go out here upon the open main. Thus, when this strange new distant roar began to impinge upon his awareness, only to increase in volume and urgency with each passing moment, Alex could not imagine what it portended.

"Ah, that sound?" Wakefern clapped the Redwall squirrel on the back, acting as if naught was amiss. "Stuff o' legends, an' some might say nightmares, too. Thought mebbe ye might've heard of it yoreself, but I s'pose there's a lot from out on these waters that never makes it to the inner woodlands. Cock an ear, matey, an' see if ye can guess what that sound might be?"

Alex did as bidden as he stood there at the ship's starboard railing staring out to sea. Far away, toward the horizon line to the west, he could just make out what appeared to be a disturbance upon the wider waters, a place where the ocean seemed to rise up slightly, standing above the stretches around it. On a day less clear and sunny that this, he might very easily have missed it - although he still would not have missed the noise coming from it.

He shook his head. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear it sounds like the rushing of a rain-swollen river after a torrential spring downpour. I saw the River Moss once after such a deluge, and it was awesome to behold. But there can't be any rushing rivers out here, can there?"

The otter captain chuckled. "Oh, ye'd be surprised. This great sweet mother o' ours is full o' secret currents an' eddies an' slipstreams all her own, some more impressive an' hazardous than others. An' the one we're passin' now is one any nautical beast with half a brain in its skull will allers give a wide berth."

"Great sweet mother? That's a phrase I've heard the Long Patrol use, but I never knew its origin, or exactly what it meant."

"It's another name fer th' sea itself," Wakefern replied, apparently content to stand here explaining such things to his passenger while his crew saw to the sailing of the _Stronganchor_ past whatever watery menace they now transited. "The sea has many names, as those of us who respect her well know. Not surprised your long-eared friends were familiar with it, having dwelt upon the coast at Salamandastron fer all th' seasons they did."

"So, what is this hazard we're steering clear of now?" Alex prompted, still no more illuminated by Wakefern's cryptic statements.

"Well, shore, I could _tell_ ye ... but some things're p'raps best seen with one's own eyes." The otter pointed up to the riggings above them. "Feelin' up fer a liddle mornin' climb, matey?"

Alex grinned. "You forget my species, Captain - we squirrels are _always_ up for a climb, no matter what time of day or night! And I'll challenge _you_ to try to keep up with me!"

"To the crow's nest then, bushtail - an' first one there gets extra helpin's fer supper!"

Wakefern scaled the rope latticework with surprising speed and dexterity for a creature so large and rugged, but not even a lifetime's experience at sea could prepare him to match any squirrel's innate climbing ability. And so it was that he found Alex, barely winded from his exertions, waiting for him at the top cross spar alongside the enclosed basket where the mouse lookout Bobee stood watch.

"Looks like ye earned yore extra vittles, fair 'n' square," Wakefern puffed as he joined Alex in perching upon the mast spar, clutching ropes to hold himself upright so Bobee could have the crow's nest to himself. "Now that we're as high above th' deck as it's possible t' be, cast yore gaze westward once more, an' tell me what y' think o' _that_!"

Alex turned his eyes to the raised area of the sea that'd he'd observed down on deck; he'd not known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't what he saw now, and the vista nearly made him lose his balance and fall from the crossmast. "Seven seasons of acorns, it's a hole in the ocean! A giant whirlpool big enough to swallow Redwall!"

Wakefern nodded. "Aye. Th' Green Maelstrom, 'tis called. Been churnin' out here long as anybeast c'n remember. Found ref'rences to it in journals goin' back generations, so could be it's been there almost as long as th' sea 'erself."

"Yes," said Alex, "I remember now, hearing of this during Abbey lessons, in the tales of Mariel and Dandin, and Mariel's father Joseph the Bellmaker. T'was Joseph, on a voyage south to Southsward just as we're making now, who witnessed it. But never did I imagine it might still lurk our here, or that I'd someday behold it with my own eyes!"

"Then ye may also recall from yore school tales that th' Maelstrom gives rise to th' Roarin'burn, swiftest current in all the seas, an' one that'll send us straight down t' Southsward in th' fastest possible time. That's what we'll be lookin' for now - it can be a liddle tricky t' pinpoint, frustratin' many a mariner who's tried, but 'tween me 'n' Whiskersalt, we got about mebbe ten ordinary lifetimes o' seagoin' smarts under our belts, so we'll get th' job done, ye can be shore o' that!"

Alex couldn't tear his gaze away from the Maelstrom, spinning and frothing out near the horizon. "Incredible to think such wonders exist in the world ... terrifying as some of them are."

"If we sailed closer ye'd be able t' get an even better look at it, but this is as close as we'll be drawin' on this voyage. We'll not be like those daft searats, darin' that monster right on its outskirts!"

Alex looked to the otter. "What do you mean?"

Wakefern gave a grim chortle. "Became common knowledge 'mongst all us old salts that new searat cap'ns take on th' Maelstrom as a rite of passage, steerin' their ships as close to it as they dare without gettin' caught up in it an' sent to the sea bottom. Word is, not ev'ry such vessel o' theirs escapes such a fate."

Alexander's eyes widened. "That's ... that's too terrible to even contemplate! Entire ships? And all their crews?"

Wakefern shrugged. "It's just searats. Naught t' shed a tear 'bout, 'specially if it's through their own stupidity. If twice as many were lost that way, still wouldn't be enuff by half."

"I can't imagine Tratton would approve of such risks. I mean, these are the ships of his fleet we're talking about here, precious craft he'd not want jeopardized for a dare."

"Many of the older frigates an' galleons go back t' before Tratton's ascension to the throne o' Terramort - back to th' days o' Farca an' Garwal, an' even before them. They allers had their own cap'ns, their own crews, an' their own ways. Gettin' 'em all t' serve under his banner musta been one o' Tratton's greatest challenges. Their sails weren't allers th' same green, black an' red ye see today; back then, ev'ry searat ship flew her own colors an' designs, as each cap'n saw fit. But legend has it even Tratton Whiteclaw 'imself took th' Maelstrom dare on 'is first captaincy. It's part o' searat custom an' tradition, an' I doubt even an edict from th' Searat King 'imself would stop it."

"Still, he can't be happy about ships of his being unnecessarily exposed to such danger - or very happy with the captains who undertake such a huge chance with their vessels and crew."

"Well, look at it this way, Alex matey. If a boneheaded cap'n miscalculates an' sends his ship to th' sea floor, 'ee's never gotta worry 'bout Tratton's wrath again, does 'ee? But if he passes th' trial successfully, he'll have won th' perm'nant respect an' loyalty of his crew, an' they'll not go runnin' to Tratton to fink on their own captain. Now in recent seasons, that crafty tyrant's been stationing some o' his small spy craft 'round th' Maelstrom - surprised we're not seein' any at th' moment, in fact - to persuade any new cap'ns not to take too big a risk. Searats might be spurred by their ambition to keep takin' this challenge, but could be they fear Tratton's spyrats even more, an' that might finally be what it takes t' put that tradition to rest."

"At least it would save lives."

"Wrong kinda lives, matey - 'specially now that th' searats have given up all th' goodbeast slaves o' theirs."

Alex and Wakefern descended the rigging to find Urthblood roaming the deck, checking to satisfy himself that his nautical hosts had everything well in paw. Badger and squirrel regarded each other coolly; they'd adopted a habit over the previous two days of tolerating each other's presence during their occasional encounters on the fairly close confines of the _Stronganchor_ , and any words they exchanged held a grudging if not outright frosty air.

"Have we found the Roaringburn yet, Captain?" Unrthblood inquired of Wakefern.

"Little ways south yet t' go, Lord. Should be pickin' it up later today."

"Captain Wakefern was just showing me the mighty Maelstrom off to our west," Alex told the badger. "It's really quite a sight. Too bad you're too big and heavy to climb the riggings and see it for yourself."

"I have seen it," Urthblood rumbled, immune to the Redwaller's thinly-veiled denigration. "Remember, this is not my first time at sea."

"Oh, right - when you helped Tratton become king."

This accusation drew a look of surprise from Wakefern, but Urthblood ignored it, turning away from Alex dismissively. "I see that you and your crew are on top of matters, Captain. Please inform me once we have entered the Roaringburn. That will be all for now."

As the imperious badger ambled away, Alex muttered under his breath, "Don't suppose there's any chance he might fall overboard on this voyage, is there?"

Wakefern kept his own voice low as well. "Dunno, matey. Be int'restin' seein' him try t' swim in that red armor o' his!"

 **THE _REDFOAM_**

"A ship is like a town."

Latura gazed vacantly at Trangle across the small table in the captain's cabin, making the searat wonder how many of his words she was truly absorbing. Nevertheless, he decided to press on.

"Now, if th' _Redfoam_ 's a floatin' village, that makes me 'er mayor o' sorts, fer want of a better term. Which means I'm responsible fer what goes on aboard 'er, from my first mate an' bosun all th' way down to th' lowliest galley pot-scrubber an' belowdecks bilge-scraper. I gotta make sure ev'ryrat aboard knows its place an' does its part, so's we c'n all keep th' _Redfoam_ sailin' smoothly." Trangle paused, for dramatic menace. "An' I can't have anyrat disruptin' my ship."

"Uh huh."

"Now, y' know why I called fer you t' be busted outta yer chains an' brought here fer this liddle talk?"

"Um ... t' get t' know me better?"

The searat leaned back in amusement, letting his mouthful of sharp teeth show. "Guess you could say that, in a way. See, my crew's been sayin' lots about you, missy. Sayin' how you c'n predict things, how you c'n make things happen, how ye're protected so if somerat tries t' mistreat you, it snaps back on them instead. Now, what've y' got t' say t' _that_?"

"Um ... which part? That's a lot you said jus' now. Kinda lost track."

"Can you see th' future?"

"Sometimes I know things 'fore they happen. Not allers, but sometimes."

"How convenient," Trangle sneered. "Jus' like ev'ry other fake seer I ever ran inta. See th' future when it suits ya, but not in any way you c'n prove yer gift's fer real. So, what about controllin' events ... willin' 'em t' happen?"

"Martymouse said I do that, but I ain't really sure. T'ain't sumpthin' I wanna do, but mebbe I jus' does it."

"Martymouse? Who's that?"

"Ghost mouse who protecks Redwall. 'Cept 'ee ain't a ghost no more. An' 'ee's a she now. Least she ain't a badger too. That was real confusin'."

Trangle leaned forward, not even trying to make sense of her statement about reborn, gender-switching mouse warriors who weren't badgers. "Ah, yes, Redwall. Heard it said you came from there. That true? Didn't think they allowed our kind there."

"They didn't, not 'fore we got there, seekin' t' escape th' bad red. Hadta take us in - Martymouse made 'em."

Understanding lit Trangle's hard-edged face. "Ah, so you were refugees! Tryin' t' escape Urthblood's Purge! Makes sense now. So, you ain't a true Redwaller after all."

Latura took this as an affront. "Nay, I'm Latura o' Redwall! Martymouse said so!"

The searat remained clearly dubious. "Just how long were you at that Abbey anyway?"

"Long 'nuff fer th' sisters there t' make me th' prettiest orange dress! T'was my fav'rite thing ever! But th' badred squirreleys took it away, made me wear this borin' shirt instead."

"Yah, looks like t'was made fer a malebeast. So, if you only went t' Redwall after Urthblood started roundin' up rats, couldn'ta been there long, couldja?"

"Lessee ... left my village in late winter, when t'was still some snow on th' ground. Got t' Redwall in early spring, when all th' leaves an' flowers were comin' out."

Trangle was hardly impressed by this confirmation of his suspicions. "So, just earlier this very season. I was hopin' you'd be able t' tell me quite a bit about that place, but if you were only a guest there, fer just part of a season ... "

Latura took this as a challenge. "Hey, I know 'bout Redwall! Talked to its Abbotmousie, an' its stripedogmum, an' its rabbithare kernel, an' its squirreldogs who were part o' th' good red an' not bad at all. An' Greenpup too! Can't ferget Greenpup!"

"What's ... a Greenpup?"

"Otterdog. In green robes. Nicest beast - allers nice t' me, an' my kin. Helped us get t' Redwall, get safe."

"What does he do there?"

"Writes a lot. Mostly what 'ee does, allers writin' in books an' on scrolls, an' lookin' up things in old books 'n' scrolls too. Oh, an' he holds lessons fer all th' youngrats. Tells 'em all th' best tales, Greenpup does!"

Trangle started to reconsider Latura's usefulness in this regard. If she really had interacted with most of Redwall's leadership as she seemed to be claiming - the Abbot, and some of the Abbey defenders, and their teacher and historian - she might have picked up some worthwhile information after all. Then another thought occurred to the searat.

"Any of those others down in th' rowin' galley come from Redwall too?"

"Jus' th' scrawny, shrimpy one, who sits next t' me. Fergit 'is name ... "

"Does he make any more sense than you do?"

"Huh? Whaddya mean?"

"Nevermind. I'll find out fer m'self. So, what's it like at Redwall?"

Latura's face lit up at the happy memories of her time at the Abbey. "Oh, 'tis a wunnerful place! Where they make a beast all kinds o' d'licious food t' eat, an' pretty dresses t' wear, an' soft comfy beds too, tho' I only got t' bounce on one of 'em a liddle bit, mostly hadta sleep on th' floor ... "

"On the floor? Why was that?"

"Too crowded. Too many beasties, too many bodies, not enuff beds t' go 'round."

"Just how many of you rats sought refuge there?"

Latura screwed her face up in concentration. "Ooo, t'weren't never too good with numbers. T'was all th' rats from deadfoxie's valley horde, plus a few others. Lessee ... scores, I know that fer sure. Over a hunnerd, mebbe close t' two hunnerds, think I heard it said. Paltryrat down below might 'member better'n me."

"Two hundred? An' hordesrats too? That explains why there was no room. Surprised they letcher in t'all."

"Oh, but it weren't jus' us. Lotsa goodbeasts sleepin' on th' floor too, down in th' big hole cavern. Least there was, 'fore they all up an' moved on."

"Who were they? An' why'd they leave Redwall?"

"Freed slaves. From th' searats ... hey! That's you, ain't it?"

"Aye. We're searats. King Tratton freed all our woodland slaves as part o' his agreement with Urthblood. Makes sense a lot of 'em woulda found their way t' Redwall, since most wouldn'ta had any home t' go back to."

"Homes! That's where they were goin'! To th' big rockpit, t' help dig up stone fer buildin' new homes fer themselves. Gonna make a whole new village right across th' ditch!"

"The ditch?"

"Yeah, there's this ditch, see - "

"Nevermind that. So, all these freed slaves ... they can't've been happy sharin' the Abbey with so many rats."

"Oh, they weren't! Almost kept us out, but Greenpup an' Martymouse, they knew we hadta be let in t' escape th' bad red. Abbot weren't happy, almost put us out agin, but Greenpup an' old gray hare talked 'im inta lettin' us stay. Them old slaves, got their snouts outta joint over it, that's why they went to th' rockpit t' help th' molerbeasts there dig th' stone fer their new homes. Couldn't stand bein' 'round us rats no more. Kinda insultin', now I stop 'n' think about it."

Trangle leaned back in his chair once more, beaming. If even half of what this halfwit had told him was true, he'd struck a goldmine of valuable intelligence. Redwall taking in rat refugees meant they were at least somewhat opposed to Urthblood's Purge, which would put the badger and the Abbey at odds. And discord amongst the Redwall leaders over the status of these rats, and between them and the former slaves ... and creatures needing to sleep on the floors due to the lack of space? That suggested that perhaps Redwall was being overwhelmed with sanctuary-seekers, its resources strained beyond what they could comfortably accommodate. The only way this could get any better was if ...

"So, if you an' yer friend belowdecks were safely sheltered at the Abbey, how'd you end up here?"

"Badred squirrelies snatched us up! Tricked their way inta the Abbey with lies, lured us outside th' walls ... no, wait, t'was Martymouse who did that ... but then they tied us up an' marched us away to th' coast, to see th' badred badger at his mountain."

"Just th' two o' you? Not anyrat else? Why?"

"Badred badger was after me. Thought I was speeshul, somehow. Guess 'ee changed 'is mind, 'cos 'ee let me go agin. Pretty sure he aimed t' slay me, but then 'ee didn't. Sliced my nose, tho' - that stung an' pained me. Mebbe he didn't like what 'ee saw when 'ee looked inside me. I looked in him too. He's empty, y' know. Just winds rushin' all 'round in 'n' around 'im. Looked fer it, but t'weren't there t' be found."

"What wasn't?"

"A soul," Latura replied innocently.

Trangle shuddered. Not that this wasn't anything most searats hadn't concluded for themselves long ago. "Well, that's ... sumpthin'. So, I'm gatherin' the Redwallers can't have been too happy 'bout havin' you snatched away from 'em like that?"

"Oh no, they weren't. Rescue party came out after us, but th' badred's gullbirdies beat 'em back. Wasn't there t' see it m'self, but heard tell it got bloody, hares 'n' halfmice dyin', gullbirdies dyin' too, lots of 'em all over th' ground ev'rywheres."

Trangle straightened at this. Urthblood's forces and Redwallers, slaying each other in open battle? This was better than anything he could have hoped for! Could relations between the Abbey and Salamandastron truly have deteriorated to such a point of mutual enmity?

"Paltryrat could tell you more," Latura concluded. "He was there with 'em, saw more of it than I did. Bigbird flew me ahead, away from th' fightin'. Badred badger didn't want 'em catchin' up with me."

"Musta been quite a clash. But back to Redwall - "

"Ooo, are we goin' back t' Redwall? That'd be real nice. Didn't think you could sail a ship there ... "

The searat captain scowled. "No, we ain't goin' there."

"But y' jus' said - "

"Shattup. What does Urthblood think o' Redwall takin' in an' shelterin' so many rats, in defiance o' his will?"

"You'd hafta ask him, wouldn'tja? But his badred squirrelies ain't happy. Got the Abbey all surrounded, can't go outside without runnin' inta them. Daresn't go outside t'all if ye're a rat, elsewise they'll snatch you up an' march you off!"

"A siege? They've got Redwall under siege?"

"Um, if that's whatcher call it, yeah."

Trangle silently contemplated everything he'd just heard, mulling over the vast and myriad implications. Redwall under siege ... open battles being fought between woodlanders ... such fractures and divisions amongst their traditional adversaries were not to have been guessed at, and if her companion rat down in the rowing galley could confirm all of this, it would constitute some of the most vital intelligence ever to be delivered to Uroza and his spyrats.

And it had fallen right into Trangle's lap, through sheer providence.

While the searat captain dwelt inwardly upon his stroke of good fortune, Latura found her own attention wandering in its usual fashion. Noticing Trangle's tricorn hat sitting on the tabletop between them, she reached out to toy with it, finding the headpiece most novel; nobeast where she came from had ever sported anything quite like it, nor had she seen anybeast at the Abbey wearing anything similar either. Trangle, summoned from his reverie by her impetuous roving paws, smacked them away.

"Mind yerself there, missy. That's Cap'n's hat, an' Cap'n gets testy if it ain't shown proper respect. Won it fair an' square in a game o' clams 'n' periwinkles with ol' Cap'n Harrity, tho' it did take my blade in 'is back t' convince him t' surrender it after our game. No other hat like it in all th' Fleet. Become my hallmark, it has, an' other cap'ns an' officers can tell it's me from a long ways off, just 'cos o' that hat. Nobeast touches it but me, unnerstood?"

"What if it blows off yer head, an' somebeast wants t' be nice an' pick it up fer ya?"

"I make sure it's fit nice an' snug when I'm out 'n' about. Been through near gales with it, an' it ain't never blown off once. Like I said, it's quite a special hat."

"Hmmm." Latura found herself shuffling her paws against the floor, and not for the first time since being seated before the captain of the _Redfoam_. "Nice carpetin' y' got in here, soft 'n' cozy. Nice curtains too ... and that bunk looks almost as comfy as an Abbey bed."

"Ah yes." Trangle ran his flat paw over the polished surface of the table, a piece of furniture more finely crafted than anything one might expect to find aboard a searat vessel. "Bein' Cap'n gives ya perks, y' know. These rugs an' hangin's an' beddings, my chest an' tables an' chairs an' drawers, it's all th' best from our plunders an' tributes taken from over th' seasons - aside from what's sent to King Tratton, o' course, since he gets t' very best fer 'imself, right off th' top. But any cap'n of th' Fleet who plays 'is cards right can live like a prince, if mebbe not a king. Just rewards, fer all our hard work."

Trangle's eyes narrowed at Latura. "How'd you like some perks fer yerself, missy?"

"Oh, we couldn't have nice carpets like this down where we're chained up. They'd get all stained an' stinky ... "

The searat scowled at such a notion. "Ain't talkin' 'bout that. How'd y' like not t' have t' go back down there? No more chains, no more rowin', no more whips ... "

"Oh, Crackrat don't whip me no more. Hurts 'imself, ev'ry time 'ee tries."

"So I've 'eard. Lots o' my crew's talkin' 'bout you bein' protected, 'bout how no harm c'n befall you. Now, I ain't a superstitious beast, never berlieved in ghosts or spirits or curses or omens 'n' portents - but most searats still do. An' that's what counts 'ere. Now, I c'n blow an' bluster an' invoke my captain's authority all I want, but I'll never be able t' convince 'em of sumpthin' other than what's in their hearts, never banish th' boggerts in their souls. They've come convinced that anybeast who tries t' do you harm ends up harmed themself, an' that's no belief I'd be able t' counter. So, if that's what they berlieve, I'll just go along with it. If tryin' t' hurt you ends up with my crew takin' lumps an' bruises - or losin' an eye, or throwin' out their back - we'll just hafta start takin' very good care o' you, won't we? Make sure no harm befalls ye, so that none befalls us neither, hm?"

"Um ... okay."

Trangle flashed another gleaming, many-pointed smile. "So glad y' agree, missy. From now on, ye're gonna be our mascot, our good luck charm. No more slop from th' dregs of our cookin' galley, no more rowin' down below, ye'll get a berth o' yer own where you c'n nap an' sleep much as y' like ... oh, an' we'll getcher some new clothes too, so you look a liddle prettier. Might not be as fine as a Redwall dress, but we'll see what we c'n do. How's that sound?"

"Sounds real nice. Can Paltryrat be a mascot too?"

"No."

"Oh. He won't like that."

"Tough for him." Trangle rose and came around to Latura's side of the table, extending his paw. "Welcome aboard th' _Redfoam_ , Lattie o' Redwall! Look forward t' havin' ye as part o' my crew - an' th' good luck ye're gonna bring us!"

Latura sat letting her paw be shaken, a passive observer to the scene. "Um ... can I get a hat like yers?"


	3. Chapter II

**II.**

 **REDWALL**

The third time proved the charm for Trelayne in his attempts to successfully craft Geoff's figurine for the restored Abbot.

Vanessa, Clewiston and Tolar's group returned to Redwall to find the marten's lawn kiln already cooling and the deed already done, with the latest miniature sculpture installed on a shelf up in the Abbot's study.

"If that's all right with you?" Geoff inquired of Vanessa, with a mix of prickly assertiveness and tremulous reticence.

The female mouse answered with a casual shrug. "Why should I care? It's your study now. Decorate it however you see fit. I'm just glad Trelayne was finally able to produce a deserving figure of you, without any interference from childish tantrums or birds falling from the sky!"

"Ah, yes, about that." Geoff worked his paws self-consciously. "Some are saying that it turned out all right this time because you weren't at the Abbey to undo it. Almost like the effort was cursed and doomed to failure, as long as you were around."

Vanessa smirked. "For all I know, they could be right. The important thing is that it turned out all right to everybeast's satisfaction."

"That it did. A splendid piece, every bit as fine as the first two attempts, and one I shall treasure for all my remaining seasons. Master Trelayne wanted to get it done without further delay, knowing that Tolar will want to return to Foxguard forthwith, and that Kyslith will be going with them. Rather bittersweet, knowing this may be the last time the master glassmaker and his prized apprentice ever work together, but such are the ways of life. So, how did things go down at Grayfoot's?"

"Quite well. Tolar apportioned all the Realms he deemed our ferret friend would need for the near term, fretted about the currency's safety, and meanwhile I got to take my own first look around the place. Nice little establishment we built and stocked for that former captain of Urthblood's."

"That's right, you've been ... er, incapacitated most of the time since work on that tavern began. I should really try to make it down there myself one of these days. Sometimes I'm almost ashamed at what a homebody I am."

"Perhaps your chance to do just that is closer than you think. I rather promised Grayfoot I'd be sending some Redwallers down his way this season to help him out with things there. You could go with them when they leave, spend a night at the tavern yourself before returning to the Abbey. His guest beds are very comfortable - and usually quite free, since he gets so few customers in need of rooms."

"Hmph. If he's got so many free beds, maybe we should be sending some of our residents down there to stay for a while. It would certainly help with the overcrowding around here ... "

While the two mice chatted near the gatehouse, Mona took Tolar aside near the orchard, in the company of their own foxes and weasels so no Abbeybeast or rat was likely to overhear. "What of the Abbess?" the vixen inquired. "Did you observe her closely on this overnight trip? Were you able to learn anything?"

"Nothing that we didn't know already. Even when she journeys half a day beyond these walls, she's just as commanding and arrogant as she's become here. As a commander myself, I see she's a creature used to getting her own way, and being obeyed. Guarded, too, and quick to deflect unwanted inquiries with dismissive humor, or just outright dismissiveness. In her own way, she's as imperious as any Gawtrybe - or Lord Urthblood himself, for that matter."

"Well, that right there tells us a lot. Vanessa never used to be that way. It's like the worst traits of her bratty, insolent impaired self have fused with her Abbess's authority, making her almost insufferable. Making her ... " Mona shook her head. "There's something going on with her, Tolar, something beyond my understanding, and I want to find out what it is."

"Then you'll have a little more opportunity to plumb this mystery. She announced during our return trip that she intends to accompany us to Foxguard as well."

Mona actually blanched at this, suddenly less sure of herself than a moment before. "Coming ... with us? To Foxguard? But why?"

"Relations, she claims. She thinks a senior Redwaller ought to visit Foxguard to see firstpaw how things are going there, and as a symbolic act to keep the bonds between us strong."

"And you ... agreed?"

"Was I to refuse her? On what grounds?"

"These are uncertain times for us to be receiving visitors from Redwall. I already told Metellus he should suspend his trips there to train with me until things settle down a bit - and I'd planned to tell him that even before learning of the battle out in the Plains."

"Perhaps she wants to see for herself whether it's safe for your pupil to be at Foxguard. But I wouldn't worry about the Abbess sticking around for too long; I'm sure a day or two of Custis will be all she'll be able to stomach!"

"I worry about her, Tolar."

"From what I've seen of her so far, she's completely back in command of herself, and perfectly capable of looking after herself, and others. Let's not forget those four rats in the Infirmary."

"That's just it: she's not herself. What if she means us harm?"

Tolar gave an incredulous bark of laughter. "What, are you suggesting she's coming with us to Foxguard to assassinate its leaders?"

"Not ... necessarily what I had in mind. Although, if she could get you, me and Custis together in a room alone, and take us unawares and unprepared ... "

"Then we'll make sure she doesn't bring a sword with her."

"She didn't need one of her own in the Infirmary; she simply wrested the rat's blade away from him, and then slew them all with it."

"I'm Foxguard's Sword, Mona - I'd like to see her try. You're being paranoid, even by our own overly-precautious standards. And even if the Abbess were so unhinged as to attempt such treachery, would she really want to initiate all-out war with Lord Urthblood? Because that's what an act like that would lead to."

"An unhinged beast may not even be thinking of the consequences of its actions."

"Funny. I just spent an overnight march with that mouse, and she didn't seem unhinged to me."

Mona threw up her paws. "Okay, maybe she's not violent, or mad. But she can still be dangerous. I'm not sure what her intentions toward us are, Tolar, and I'm not at all convinced we can trust her. She may not even need a blade in her paw to do us harm, or work against us."

"We've nothing to hide from Redwall - not this time. Perhaps now more than ever we could benefit from a visit by the Abbess or some other high-ranking Abbeybeast to help overcome the damage that has been done this season. Perhaps if she sees with her own eyes that the Gawtrybe's presence in Mossflower has presented problems and challenges for us as well, she'll be more sympathetic to our own position, and that might help bring us closer together again."

Mona's gaze sought out the Abbess, who'd parted ways with Abbot Geoff at the gatehouse and now strolled with Winokur along the south battlements. "I'm not sure we want to get closer, Tolar. Not to her ... "

Up on the walltop, Vanessa's announcement of her intentions met with equal consternation from the otter Recorder as from the vixen below, if for different reasons.

"I must go with you!"

"Absolutely not, Wink. You're too badly needed here to risk both of us venturing into a stronghold of Urthblood's."

"Ah! So you admit there is a risk you foresee!"

"I've already been over this with the Colonel, although I suspect he still intends to assign at least one of the Long Patrol to serve as my bodyguard on this little jaunt - one beast more than I'd prefer to have with me, but the good Colonel is not easily dissuaded."

"Neither am I. I've been to Foxguard more than any other Redwaller aside from perhaps Metellus, and I have a ready-made friendly contact there in Roxroy. It wouldn't make sense for me _not_ to go."

"You do have a point in as far as that goes - and I have not forgotten Roxroy. That fox could prove more valuable to us than gold, if ever we need to exploit a friendly voice inside Foxguard. But you're forgetting our rat friends here. Your presence soothes and calms them, especially the youngsters. They trust and respect you to advocate for them, and your connection with them surpasses that of any other Redwaller. We can't spare you from this vital if subtle duty, not even for the few days I expect to be away. You must stay here and keep on doing what you've been doing, for the sake of everybeast involved."

"And just what are you trying to achieve by going there anyway?"

"I think we both know the answer to that. I didn't have much chance to work on Tolar during this last trip, concentrating on Grayfoot as I was. I feel our good Sword could use a little more unconscious persuasion and nudging away from Urthblood and the Gawtrybe, especially once he arrives back at his own fortress and is no longer immersed in Redwall on all sides. I'd also like a chance to directly observe the dynamic between him and Custis, to find out whether their relationship is merely tense, or strained somewhat beyond that. If I can succeed in this area even away from the Abbey, even in Custis's presence, then I may be able to secure us Tolar's neutrality in any coming conflict. I also want to spend a little more time with Mona. I'm not entirely sure what's going on with that vixen, but I think it bears further investigation."

"And what of Grayfoot? How successful do you deem you and the Colonel were with him?"

"I think he'll do it. Of course, it helped immensely that he already knew in his heart that the Purge was wrong, and that he ought to aid any rat who came to him asking his help. He appreciates the risks - that was the main impediment keeping him from fully committing. But I think we can arrange things to limit his exposure. The biggest hurdle now will be getting word out to all the rats in nearer Mossflower that Grayfoot's Tavern is a safe haven for their kind, if only as a temporary way station."

Winokur nodded. "Will we be counting on our Sparra for that?"

"We will - once I bring Highwing in on this. I honestly don't see any other alternative; our squirrels wouldn't be able to travel nearly as far and wide, or cover nearly as much territory so quickly, and they would be much more likely to arouse the suspicions of Urthblood's other forces. But it will still be an uphill battle. For one thing, we don't know where all the rat settlements in Mossflower are, and Urthblood's got a big head start on us in scouting them out and pinpointing them. For another, his birds are assisting him in these efforts, and while our Sparra might escape the notice of the Gawtrybe in their trees, they'll be much more obvious to enemy birds circling higher in the sky - especially if our winged friends suddenly start foraying out far beyond their usual home grounds, to places they don't normally go. That could curtail our efforts in a hurry."

"Yes, I could see that. And it doesn't help that sparrows can't fly at night. As daylight birds, they can't help but be seen - just as the rats will be too, even if we can get word to them that Grayfoot's is safe."

"If they haven't figured out for themselves by now that it's only safe for them to travel by night, their cause may already be lost."

"The only problem is, if the rats are all moving by night and in hiding during the day, our Sparra will miss them. And if they're travelling in daylight, the Gawtrybe and their bird scouts are likely to find them long before any Abbeybird does."

"Yes, a stubborn little logistical loop, isn't it? But we'll give it our best try, and see what it gets us."

"And what if what it gets us is war with Urthblood?"

Vanessa gave Winokur a searching look. "You don't think we should be doing this?"

The otter paused before answering. "I think we should have done it long before now, and maybe more, too. How many rats might we have saved who will now be condemned to a life of slavery under Tratton, or give up their lives entirely, resisting the Purge? If we'd put something like this in motion within a day or two of learning the truth from Truax ... "

"In case you hadn't noticed, we rather had our paws full back then. Geoff wasn't even going to let Harth's rats inside in time to save them, until you took it upon yourself to do so, and then there was the debate as to whether to let them stay, and all that needed to be done to accommodate them once they were granted sanctuary, and the Gawtrybe placing us under siege, and the reactions of the former slaves, leading up to their relocation to the quarry. And let us not forget Alexander's confrontation with the Gawtrybe which led to four slain rats; in a way, Alex was trying to do just what you proposed, but it took that incident to drive home just what odds we would face if we were to engage in any counter-campaign or resistance outside our walls. This had to come about in its own time - Grayfoot coming to Redwall and revealing his reservations and doubts to us, and the Colonel stumbling across the Flitch-aye-aye massacre out in the Plains while trying to rescue Latura. All the pieces had to fall into place, all the players discover their proper motivations, before any of this could be set into motion. And now it can."

"And we still don't know whether all our combined efforts will save a single rat now, or make any difference whatsoever."

"We won't know until we try, will we? In the meantime, look to the rats we have here already, and their young you've taken under your charge. That is your role in this now, and I might have steered you toward it myself had you not so willingly taken it upon yourself to accept this responsibility. Our attempts to aid more rats still abroad in Mossflower won't mean very much if we can't first properly see to the ones we already have living with us here."

Wink sighed. "I suppose you're right. So, how does the Colonel intend to proceed with the Long Patrol?"

"It won't be easy, with most of our moles tied up with Freetown; our hare friends could certainly use the expertise of those diggerbeasts. Fortunately, the Long Patrol _do_ know to travel only by night, to avoid easy detection by Urthblood's birds, and they know exactly where in the Plains they need to go. I suspect his main hesitation at this point lies in deciding just how many of his hares he can spare from the direct defense of Redwall to pursue this other effort. He may even choose to put off such a decision until I return from Foxguard."

Winokur gritted his teeth in frustration. "The longer we wait ... "

"Yes, yes, I know - the more rats will end up in bondage to the searats. But I'm afraid it can't be helped. As you can see, there are a lot of participants to coordinate before we can get this fully underway, and other matters to see to as well beside the rats. And we can't very well start sending them out into the Plains for sanctuary before that haven has been properly prepared to receive them, can we?"

The otter sighed again. "I just can't help but feel we're wasting time, that we're letting opportunities get away from us, lives that could be saved ... "

"Things may move faster than you think. I have enough time before dinner to meet with both Highwing and the Colonel. Before this day's sun sets, I will have brought our Sparra fully up to date and into our counter-campaign and hopefully secured their cooperation, and prodded the Colonel into embarking upon more immediate action regarding his role in this. The seed idea did start with him, after all, so he's no place delaying it further or suffering second thoughts!"

Wink grinned, cheered by Vanessa's encouraging tone. "No, he doesn't, does he? Not when you put it like that."

"Then I might as well get started. If you'll excuse me while I go find Cyril and Cyrus, I've got some Sparra to summon!"

Winokur remained on the walltop, watching the Abbess/Warrior descend the nearest wall stairs to the lawns below, then turned his gaze out over the battlements, staring past the meadows outside Redwall's south gate to the deeper forests of central and south Mossflower, wondering how many rats lay hidden in the vast tracts of woodlands there - and how many of them they'd be able to save.

00000000000

Lord Sodexo found himself conflicted in how he felt about Tolar's swordfoxes. For all his life in the Southern Glades, the badger had regarded that species as distrustful and troublesome, and his discovery that the sky-reaching red tower visible even from lower Mossflower was in truth a bastion for their kind did little to counter this lifelong view, especially once he started to learn more of their master and see Urthblood's other forces in action. Learning from the Redwallers that the swordfoxes stood as Urthblood's elite bladesbeasts and one of the most feared and potent brigades in his vast army hardly assuaged Sodexo's suspicions.

Yet those same Abbeybeasts swore up and down that the Foxguarders were different, not at all like the fanatical, cold-blooded Gawtrybe, nor even the Northland shrews. Their proximity to Redwall had allowed for bonds to be formed and fondnesses to flower. The Abbey's otter Recorder shared a close and genuine friendship with a junior fox of the brigade, while their healer vixen had helped out in the Infirmary after the loss of Sister Aurelia, and later served as a tutor to young Metellus. And the entire brigade had apparently become regular fixtures at the seasonal Nameday celebrations, freely welcomed into the Abbey with warm hospitality and open trust. Sodexo simply could not believe that so many astute woodlanders could be fooled so completely for so long if Tolar truly harbored any evil intent toward Redwall. But foxes were the most cunning of all creatures, and if Urthblood had indeed tasked them to undertake a seasons-long masquerade in order to gain the Abbeybeasts' confidence, win their trust and lower their defenses where the brushtailed swordsbeasts were concerned, this would mark just one more peg in the Salamandastron badger's tower of duplicity and deceit.

And, given everything he'd seen and heard of Urthblood so far, Sodexo wouldn't have put any such thing past him.

On this late spring afternoon, as most of the Abbeyfolk and their guests made ready for dinner and Vanessa met privately with first Highwing and then Colonel Clewiston, Sodexo sat on the north lawns sharing the company of his wife, daughter and distant cousin. He did not try to hide his surprise when the two foxes approached - but it was Metellus who greeted them.

"Hullo, Mona! Come, join us!"

"Why, thank you, Metellus." The vixen, with Kyslith at her side, stepped right up to their gathering at this invitation, but remained standing. "I can only intrude for a few moments before Tolar misses me, but my business here shouldn't take long, and then I can leave you to yourselves again. That business is actually with you, Lord."

Sodexo's eyebrows went up. "Oh?"

"I know you consider yourself a honey maker by trade, and work extensively with your hives. It's come to my attention that, in addition to your honey, you also journey with a stock of beeswax as well?"

The badger nodded. "Very useful stuff, and an inevitable byproduct of beekeeping, for those who take the time to collect it. Yes, I do have a supply with me as part of my travelling inventory. How much do you need?"

"All you can spare. Every last bit, if you're willing to part with it at this point."

"That is ... quite a lot. More than Redwall would likely use in ten seasons, or even twenty. What purpose could you possibly have for such quantities?"

Kyslith answered. "In my line of glassmaking work, Lord, I sometimes deal with harmful and corrosive solutions, and Master Trelayne has found beeswax to be the only substance which can be used to safely coat our instruments and vessels to adequately protect them against such fluids. Sadly, we've used up all the beeswax we brought with us from Salamandastron in the crafting of our tribute statue of First Sword Machus, so we find ourselves in need of replenishing our supplies."

"Ah. And this beeswax ... would it be split between you and Trelayne, I presume? Since one of you is staying at Foxguard and the other is not."

"Actually, Master Trelayne will be able to restock his own supplies once he returns to Salamandastron, or wherever else Lord Urthblood assigns him. The stocks we seek from you would be purely for our uses, at Foxguard."

"'Our uses?'" Sodexo glanced between Kyslith and Mona.

"Yes," Kyslith hastened to elaborate. "I mean all of Foxguard. I will be serving there at the pleasure of Sword Tolar, after all, and filling the needs of the entire fortress."

"Still, that does seem rather a lot, even for an entire stronghold."

"I may reside at Foxguard for many seasons, Lord, as its resident glassmaker. And who knows when you will next be visiting this region? We'll need enough to tide us over, perhaps for a very long time."

Hekko joined the conversation with an observation of her own. "We have twice had the pleasure of seeing you and Master Trelayne working at the lawn kiln here, and I do not recall any process requiring the use of beeswax. What kind of harmful substances do you speak of?"

The male fox hesitated, and Mona too seemed disquieted by this inquiry. At last Kyslith replied, "It's called vitriol. We don't employ it for routine glassblowing of the sort we've performed here at Redwall, but it's essential for etching, adding finer surface textures and details, and for shaping larger pieces. We went through huge quantities of the stuff while making the status of Machus. That's how we used up our own supply of wax."

"Do you anticipate building more such statues at Foxguard, or producing large quantities of glassware bearing such fine surface decoration? For a military garrison? That seems rather ... incongruous."

Kyslith stared at Hekko as if her question made no sense. "I am a glassmaker, Lady, and these are the tools of my trade. I would not be without them."

"Well said," responded Sodexo. "As a craftsbeast myself, I fully appreciate the importance of the tools of one's trade. And, on the subject of trade, what will you offer me for my full stock of beeswax?"

"Name your price, Lord," said Mona. "Foxguard might not have quite the riches Redwall does, but we are a fully-stocked and outfitted fortress, with much to offer. Perhaps some weaponry from our armory?"

"My weapon of choice is my stave, and it serves me well. And do not think to insult me by offering your new coinage as payment either. If I have my way, I will see to it that nobeast in southern Mossflower adopts that as any form of accepted currency."

"Erhrm. I wasn't going to, actually, since Tolar currently controls the distribution of the Realms, and we would prefer not to involve him in this."

"Oh? Planning a statue of him as a surprise?" Hekko joked.

"Not necessarily," the vixen replied. "Although, that might be something to consider. But our Sword is a very busy beast, with much on his mind, and we would just as soon not trouble him further with things we can just as easily handle ourselves."

"And yet a moment ago you were offering me weapons from your armory. Surely that would involve him, since I am certain he would not appreciate weaponry going missing from his arsenal without his consent."

"The necessary arrangements would be made at the proper time," Mona assured the Badger Lord. "I'm very good at persuading Tolar what needs to be done. And as far as your earlier assertion that you need no other weapon, that may be true ... for yourself. But you are a tradesbeast, and I'm sure you could find many willing takers for our arms who would gladly exchange something of value to you for them."

"You may have a point. Very well. I have decided the price I will accept for what you ask."

"Splendid! And what will that be, Lord?"

"Longbows."

"Longbows?"

"Yes. And they must be Gawtrybe longbows - not any you may happen to have in your own armory."

Mona seemed quite taken aback by this demand, while Kyslith merely stood by looking lost. ""But, Lord, the Gawtrybe are not part of this negotiation. This is between just those of us here."

"I have just made them part of these negotiations. You boasted of your ability to persuade Sword Tolar to give you anything you want; now let us see how persuasive you are with your squirrel allies."

The vixen chewed this over. "I'll have a word with Captain Custis then. I might be able to convince him to free up some bows for trade, if he has any to spare. How many would you ask, Lord?"

"Two hundred. No more, no less. That is my price."

"My Lord, be serious!"

"I am deadly serious. You want my beeswax so badly? Disarm the Gawtrybe in Mossflower. Otherwise, I am just as happy to hold on to my stocks."

Mona's gaze went to her sometimes-apprentice Metellus, who sat looking every bit as lost as Kyslith. Looking back to Sodexo, she said rather temperamentally, "Such an attitude will hardly go far in maintaining good relations with Redwall, Lord."

Sodexo displayed the same implacable calm Urthblood might have under such circumstances. "Foxguard might have enjoyed good relations with Redwall, but you have never had good relations with _me_. My wax, my terms - and I do not care what you or any other servant of Urthblood's thinks."

"Well then ... well ... I guess we'll just have to find some other supplier for the wax we need. It grieves me that you could not be reasonable about this, Lord, but given all that has transpired this season, I suppose you are not entirely to be blamed for your attitude. Good evening to you then."

As the two foxes turned to go, Sodexo said to them, "One other thing, vixen. When creatures close to each other start keeping secrets from one another, it usually ends badly."

Mona glared at the badger for several silent heartbeats, then took her leave, Kyslith doggedly, dejectedly at her side.

Hekko looked to her husband in curiosity. "What was that last bit about?"

Sodexo's eyes remained fixed upon the receding pair. "Remind me again who that vixen is bound to - her Sword, or that glassmaker?"

Hekko snorted. "Fair point. Either way, she seems to think she can get whatever she wants from either one of them!"

00000000000

Surprise filled Tibball at the invitation to join the head table for dinner that night in Great Hall. Surprise turned to nervous apprehension when he found himself seated between Mona and Tolar there. Only their close proximity to Abbot Geoff and some of the other Abbey leaders soothed his unease about being flanked by the two foxes.

Geoff addressed Tolar. "So, I take it this is to be your last night at Redwall before returning to Foxguard?"

"Indeed, Abbot. I might even have left this afternoon, but my foxes and weasels deserved a rest after bearing all those Realms down to Grayfoot's. Besides, one extra Redwall meal is not to be missed if a beast can help it!"

"Friar Hugh is always happy to hear such praise for his efforts. And I see you'll be taking many of your Realms back to Foxguard with you."

"Yes, that's now unavoidable, since ... well, since you've refused to distribute any yourselves here at Redwall. At least I assume you've not changed the Abbey's official position on this, now that you're Abbot again?"

Geoff slowly shook his head. "No, Sword, I'm afraid not. I might not feel as forcefully about the issue as Vanessa, but many of us here do, and agreeing to any such arrangement would simply cause too much friction between us. Besides, after the way Lord Urthblood moved against us this season, aiding him in any of his campaigns - even a nonviolent one such as this - is simply out of the question."

"I understand. Had we ourselves known of everything that had happened here since our last visit, we might have hesitated to even ask, be it Lord Urthblood's direct orders or not. But, now that you've given us your answer, it comes almost as a relief. Perhaps I was meant to try to persuade you more than I have, but I am quite content to let the matter lie."

"So," Winokur inquired from Geoff's right paw, resuming his traditional Recorder's place at the table now that Geoff was fully Abbot again, "what will you do with all the Realms intended for us? Try to give them out to the local woodlanders over on your side of the Moss?"

"Partly - although many will simply be disbursed amongst ourselves. Now that Lord Urthblood has decreed the Realm the currency of the lands, he will of course start paying his own forces with them. We'll start using them with one another, even if those outside his service prove slow to adopt them for their own use."

"Ah. That makes sense. Hadn't thought of that before."

Tibball fidgeted and tried to sit low in his seat during all of this, wondering what any of it had to do with him.

"But, as far as distributing the Realms to those beyond our own forces - and particularly to woodland goodbeasts - I'm afraid we do have a bit of a credibility and trust problem there," Tolar conceded. "One to which good Tibball here can fully attest."

The rabbit sat up straighter at the mention of his name, in spite of himself.

The Sword went on, "Mona has sought for some time now to demonstrate to the good folk dwelling in the woods around Foxguard that not only do we mean them no harm, but we are there as their benefactors and protectors, in times of peace or war, feast or famine, health or pestilence. Sadly, however, our overtures have met with only fear and suspicion, and borne little fruit. Even Tibball agreed to abide with us only upon payment of food to his relations, and then only reluctantly. He will vouch for us that the residents of nearer Mossflower regard us with the distrust that has always been shown toward our species, in spite of the fact that we have done nothing to incur such sentiment."

"Well, you do go about in black uniforms with swords, conducting patrols outside your walls and battle drills within," Geoff pointed out.

"We've made no secret to anybeast that Foxguard is a military garrison, Abbot. But being a soldier should not in itself make one suspicious of us. Redwall is full of fighting beasts and defenders these days, and nobeast fears or hesitates in coming to you for aid or sanctuary."

Geoff gave a wry smirk. "They might, with all the rats we presently have on our premises. And I don't think Colonel Clewiston and the Long Patrol would equate themselves with your brigade, as far as soldiery goes. And perhaps not our squirrels and otters either."

"Yes, we do suffer from something of an image problem, don't we? Even here amongst those whom we've largely befriended. It goes back to what you just said yourself about your rats: Goodbeasts shun them, simply by virtue of the kind of beasts they happen to be."

"I imagine that can grow frustrating," Winokur commiserated; as both Roxroy's friend and the principal advocate for the rat refugees, he could see Tolar's point from two different perspectives. And the fact that the swordfoxes apparently had yet to fully commit to taking an active part in the Purge - and might not do so at all - won definite points in their favor with him.

"What we need," said Tolar, "is a representative who will be trusted in a way we can never be, a liaison who can go amongst the local woodlanders without arousing fear or malice and speak for us in a way that won't be ignored or rejected out of paw. A goodwill ambassador, if you will."

"Well, what of the Gawtrybe?" Geoff asked. "Surely squirrels will enjoy such higher standing than your foxes or weasels, and could serve the purpose you propose."

Tolar shook his head. "That had been my very hope before they arrived, Abbot, but they are still too warlike, and too foreign to Mossflower and its ways. Besides, they're too busy with the Purge, and building Gawdrey. No, we would need somebeast more local. We have struck up reasonable relations with some of the otter holts along the Moss, and get much of our fish and shrimp from them, so I have considered approaching them about this - after all, who doesn't love an otter? They put almost everybeast else at ease, and would be welcomed anywhere, making them an ideal choice. However, they still regard us with a certain coolness, much as your Long Patrol do, and I tend to doubt they'd accept."

Winokur regarded Tolar. "Were you thinking of a Redwaller, then?"

"Not specifically, no. Not even before learning of what went on here with Matowick's Gawtrybe, and certainly not now. No, I was thinking of somebeast already familiar with the woods around Foxguard, perhaps already known in part to the residents there, who would be trusted by them in a way no fox or outsider ever could be. Somebeast who, by his very nature, would not arouse suspicion or put creatures on the defensive, coming across as purely benign through his sheer obvious harmlessness."

Tolar turned to the rabbit between him and Mona. "What say you, friend Tibball? Would you agree to return to Foxguard with us, and serve as our ambassador to the good folk of nearer Mossflower?"

Tibball had to sit and absorb what the swordfox had said, certain that he had misheard. "Me? An ... ambassador? For Foxguard?"

"We can't promise that the task will be an easy one," Tolar went on. "Although, in truth, it can be as easy or as hard as you choose to make it. You would enjoy great latitude in carrying out your responsibilities as you see fit. But you would have your own office and private quarters within Foxguard, the best food and drink we have to offer, and finer clothes than any you've ever donned before ... although we may need to work with our Redwall friends here to provide you with those. More than any of this, however, you'll earn a place in the annals of Mossflower history, serving as a peacemaker in these troubling times. You showed adventurousness of spirit in just coming to our stronghold that first time; how would you like a life of real adventure, while also knowing that you labor to make these forestlands a better, safer place?"

"Ah-hrm, well ... " There was so much Tibball wanted to say in reply - about how his short stay at Foxguard had frankly left him somewhat unnerved, about how his getting lost in the forest north of Foxguard proved he didn't know the woods around the fortress nearly as well as Tolar seemed to think, about how his confidence and temperament were hardly those of a diplomat, but most of all about how he'd grown to feel at home here at Redwall, comfortable among the peace-loving Abbeybeasts and basking in the glorious presence of the Long Patrol. But, when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were, "That is quite an offer. I ... don''t know what to say."

"No need to give us your answer right this moment," Tolar told the rabbit. "Feel free to sleep on it if you like. We'll not be leaving until the morning, so you can give us your decision then. Or even later, if you feel you need more time. There's nothing to say you can't follow along after us in your own good time, since the ferry barges are there to cross anybeast whenever they wish."

Tibball looked to Geoff. "What do you think I should do, Abbot?"

"Me? This is entirely your decision, Tibball. The responsibilities Tolar describes are not for everybeast; I, for one, feel I would be most ill-suited to such a post. But for somebeast looking to get out and see more of the world, and to meet many new and interesting creatures and enjoy a wide range of experiences, it might be a perfect fit. It seemed to me that you had found a place here with us that suited you, but if this is something you'd rather do instead, know that you will have Redwall's full backing in whatever we can do to make your new occupation as easy on you as may be."

"Thank you, Abbot, that ... that means a lot to me."

"And to me as well," Tolar seconded. "I realize Tibball has found much here at Redwall to appeal to him, so he would not part with it on a whim. But neither do we extend this offer frivolously. We appreciate the sacrifice he must make if he is to tear himself away from this welcoming haven and its life of ease to return with us to Foxguard and a duty of necessary obligation. But we feel he would be perfectly suited to this post, and we would implore him not to reject our offer, unless he gives it long consideration and determines after genuine soul-searching that he truly does not wish to undertake such a role. If your backing proves the thing which sways him in our favor, then we too would offer you our sincerest thanks."

"Well ... well, then I do have a lot to think over, don't I? But, you say private chambers? And my own office?"

"Naturally. An ambassador needs the appropriate space to host any visiting dignitaries, doesn't he?"

"And I'd be able to travel the woods and report back as I see fit?"

"As long as you present the best face of Foxguard in your travels - our honest and true face, as Mossflower defenders who mean no harm to those of good heart who would have us as friends - you can keep to your own schedule as much as it suits you."

"And what of the Gawtrybe? Are they still at Foxguard? Will they seek to interfere with my duties?"

"I can't imagine why they would, since they would have nothing to gain from disparaging Foxguard to the local woodlanders, or hindering your efforts to win us favor. In fact, their campaign to rid Mossflower of rats - heavy-pawed though it may be at times - might win them sympathy in certain corners of this region, and since we are allies under Lord Urthblood's banner, that could actually help you in your aims. As for their presence at Foxguard, some remain at present, but I anticipate that will change once Gawdrey is completed, and they have a fortress of their own to call home."

"Good. I ... I feel terrible saying this about fellow woodlanders, but I never did much care for those squirrels, from what I know of them, and wouldn't wish to spend any more time around them than I have to."

A bemused look crossed Tolar's face. "An attitude I frankly share at times. And I think it says all that needs to be said about Custis's indelicate tactics and manner, if a mild rabbit such as yourself would consider serving at the pleasure of foxes yet look askance at the Gawtrybe. I truly hope the damage done by recent events does not leave a permanent scar in Mossflower's memory. And also keep in mind that there will be one more Gawtrybe of note for you to content with at Foxguard, at least for the short term, since Lady Mina will be returning with us and abiding there until she decides the time has come that she can dwell at Redwall again, or perhaps move on to Gawdrey. But, if you should accept my offer, we'll see what can be done about limiting your interaction with the Gawtrybe."

"That ... would be appreciated, sir."

"Please, call me Sword. That's my official rank, and if you are to become an honorary Foxguarder yourself, you will be welcome and entitled to address me as such."

"Um, thank you, Sword."

Mona rested a gentle paw on Tibball's leg under the table. "I know Tolar has given you until tomorrow at the least to render your decision, but do you have inclination now on how you might ultimately choose?"

Tibball regarded the swordfox chieftain beside him, resplendent in his neat black regimental jacket. "Um ... could I get a uniform of my own too? Not necessarily like that one, but maybe a bit more ... Long Patrolish?"

Tolar chuckled and smiled. "We'll see what we can do."


	4. Chapter III

**III.**

 **THE _STRONGANCHOR_**

"Those stormclouds concern me."

The _Stronganchor_ , having blasted her way past the Green Maelstrom without incident under the sure guidance of Captain Wakefern's able crew, had slipped into the Roaringburn like a duck into a millpond and now shot south under a double time of wind-billowed sails and rushing ocean currents. Urthblood had urged speed for this voyage, and now he had all the nautical swiftness anybeast could hope for.

The Badger Lord stood at the starboard ship's rail, gazing out to sea with Abellon and Gawtrybe Sergeant Witko at his side. The westering sun sat low above the distant horizon, a throbbing red orb, pulsing with the last of the dying day's energy and casting the calm seas beyond the Roaringburn with rippling shades of scarlet and crimson.

"Red sky at night, sailor's delight ... " Abellon murmured as he squinted into the glowing vista, reciting the old sailing beasts' saying he'd picked up from otter acquaintances over the seasons. "Looks fine to me, Lord ... "

Urthblood seemed not to hear, gazing intently westward. To his eye, in his vision, he perceived not what every other creature aboard the _Stronganchor_ saw, but rather a wall of darkness, stretched across the western ends of the world like a solid veil. No sun shone through, although he still saw the waters as red, like the others. But it was a red that leaked out from beneath the dark wall, seeping through to paint the sea's surface the color of blood. Such dense and forbidding stormclouds he had never beheld before, blocking any vision beyond where they spread.

"I think I will have a word with Captain Wakefern about what he plans to do should a storm overtake us." And with that, Urthblood turned and stalked away from the railing to seek out the otter he'd named.

The other two watched him go, then Witko turned to Abellon in puzzlement. "What was he talking about? The sky's clear as anybeast could ask, with no sign of a storm in any direction."

Abellon looked the squirrel in the eye. "It's Urthblood." The mouse returned his gaze to the pristine marine vista. "An' if he says a storm's coming, ain't no clear sky that'll convince me otherwise!"

 **THE _REDFOAM_**

Latura was enjoying her newfound freedom aboard the _Redfoam_.

As Captain Trangle's personally-annointed "good luck mascot," the prophetic ratmaid had free run of the ship, along with the leery caution she'd already earned from the mishaps caused to those seeking to do her harm. The only areas from which she found herself barred were the shipboard armory, including its modest stock of stormpowder kegs, and Trangle's own quarters, where she had been allowed once and only once. Otherwise, she roamed where she wished, from bothering the night shift in the crew bunks who were trying to get some sleep now that their rotation was over, to pestering the galley staff struggling to keep the entire ship fed on a regular timetable, to distracting and interfering with the abovedecks crew in whatever they happened to be doing at the time. Yet however much of a pest Latura made of herself, the searats found they could not get angry at her, not through her innocent cheer and waifish cluelessness.

Of course, being a little bit afraid of her too went a long way toward ensuring she was never mistreated, not even by the most brutish deckpaws and sea scrappers the _Redfoam_ had to offer. The still-healing welts Crackmaster carried on his cheeks served as ample reminder not to cross this seemingly harmless wisp of a rat.

On her second day of freedom, Latura lounged about leaning against the northward-facing starboard rail when an alert rang out from the lookout in the rigging above.

"Sails t' 'fore 'n' starboard! Red, black 'n' green! Friendly ship approachin'!"

This cry brought Trangle down from the wheeldeck, and presently he stood alongside Latura at the railing, inspecting the newcomer through his long glass - a device now standard-issue on all ships of the Fleet. Studying the other craft for long moments as First Mate Laverty and some of the other crew gathered around him, he announced at last, "Appears t' be the _Darktide_. Wonder where she's headin'?"

"Mebbe t' Salam'dastern, t' wait on th' next batch o' slaves?" Laverty posited.

"Could be. She's headed in th' right gen'ral direction." Trangle continue to appraise their sister searat warship through his telescope. "Now that's mighty peculiar ... "

"What is, Cap'n sir?"

"Fleetrunners. Two of 'em. Escortin' that galleon like an honor guard. Now what's _that_ all about?"

"They're guardin' King Ratty," Latura remarked idly.

Trangle lowered the spyglass and stared at Latura. "What do you mean?"

"Well, can't say it plainer, can I? They wouldn't be there if they weren't guardin' 'im, would they?"

"Are you sayin' King Tratton's aboard th' _Darktide_? Right now?"

"If that's King Ratty's name, then yeah, he is."

Trangle merely stiffened, while those around him blanched and experienced a sudden outbreak of dry mouths. "But, Cap'n," Laverty croaked, "why'd 'is Majesty be sailin' abroad unannounced? An' why on a galleon, not a dreadnought, or an ironclad?"

"Those're very good questions, Laverty. An' may'aps in time we'll learn the answer, an' may'aps we won't. Tratton'll tell what what 'ee wants t' tell, an' leave us guessin' at th' rest. That's assumin', o' course, that our liddle Miss Good Luck Charm 'ere ain't just spinnin' tales outta the air."

"Ain't spinnin' no air," Latura maintained with a trace of petulance. "Ye're th' one who wanted t' know why th' liddle fastboats were there. I just toldjer." She reached out for the long glass Trangle had lowered before him. "Hey, if you ain't usin' that, c'n I have a peek through it?"

"No. You can't." The searat captain and his crew had seen enough of how careless and clumsy Latura could be, and he wasn't about to trust the _Redfoam_ 's sole telescope to her fumbling grasp; it was very likely to end up on the sea bottom that way.

"Y' ... y' think they'll hail us, Cap'n?" said Laverty. "Think 'is Majesty'll wanna board us?" This prospect clearly unnerved the first mate, but Trangle was not so easily nonplussed.

"If 'ee boards, 'ee boards. We'll receive 'im with due honor an' respect, obey his bidding an' see 'im off again when 'ee's ready to leave. He's our King, th' _Redfoam_ 's a ship of his Fleet, an' he gets t' come aboard any o' his ships whenever it suits 'is fancy. So best make ready fer royal inspection, just t' be safe."

"Aye aye, Cap'n sir!"

While Laverty and the crew scrambled to make ready for a possible royal review, Trangle held to his spot at the ship's railing, intermittently taking further glimpses through his spyglass for any sign of being hailed by the _Darktide_ , half castigating himself for placing such stock in the simpleton beside him and half fearing she was right. As the minutes dragged by, the other ship continued to bear due east, carrying herself right on past the _Redfoam_ with no signal given by flag or flare.

Just as Trangle began to hope he would be spared the attentions of the sea tyrant who may or may not have even been on the _Darktide_ , one of the fleetrunners detached herself from her mini-fleet, turning her prow south and speeding straight for the _Redfoam_.

The searat captain clenched his jaw. Trangle wasn't sure which he relished less: A visit by Tratton, or by Uroza's spyrats.

00000000000

"Those're rather ... strange orders."

The intelligence officer seated across from Trangle in the captain's cabin neither shrugged nor waved a dismissive paw, remaining sinisterly stoic, his bloodless gaze locked on the other. "Things have changed, Captain. There are new circumstances which need to be addressed. New alliances which need to be honored."

"So it seems." Trangle took another moment to study and assess this spyrat Jagtar, even as he knew he himself was being studied and assessed. Jagtar was new to him, an unknown face and entity - which hardly surprised him, since Uroza never went out of his way to advertise the rats in his bureau, not even the ones serving openly who weren't undercover infiltrators and informers. It appeared on this occasion that Jagtar had come only to issue revised sailing orders, and harbored no nefarious secret agenda. But with Uroza's agents, one could never be sure. One could never be sure at all.

"I mean, Talaga?" Trangle went on. "His Majesty's allers made a point o' keepin' slaves far from that isle where our wives an' young whelps dwell, and where most of our crops grow. Why'd he want us to take our slaves there now?"

"They are needed for a special project." Jagtar's cool gaze went to the ratmaid seated at Trangle's right. "I am reluctant to say more with ears other than your own present. Does she really need to be here?"

Trangle flashed a disarming grin, relishing one of the few times he was ever likely to hold any advantage at all over a rat of Uroza's. "Aw, you c'n trust her. She's my pers'nal secretary!"

The spyrat regarded Latura with suspicious disdain. "Secretary? She's not writing anything down. In fact, she seems hardly capable of paying attention to what we're discussing."

"Oh, don't let that fool you. She don't miss much, our liddle Lattie!"

"Yes, whatever. In any case, that was all I really had to say. I must rejoin the _Darktide_ , before she draws too far ahead."

"Oh, you got time. That speedy liddle fastboat o' yers could catch up to a big, lumberin' galleon in a trice, I bet."

Jagtar scrutinized Trangle. "Was there something else you wished to discuss, Captain?"

"Matter o' fact, there was. Couple o' points, actshully. But before we get to those, let's talk more 'bout Talaga, 'cos that puzzles me, it does. Bit of an inconvenience ye're askin', truth be told. Been sailin' about with my rowin' galley half-empty since havin' to surrender my woodland slaves, an' now I finally got my benches down there full again, only to be told I gotta turn right around an' give 'em up again. You can imagine how frustratin' that can be, I'm sure."

"Your inconveniences don't concern me, or King Tratton. Those are - "

"King Ratty!" Latura burst out enthusiastically.

Jagtar smiled at her. "Are you sure this one's all right in the head, Captain?"

"Oh, she's got other talents, simple tho' she may seem. Just takes awhile t' see 'em, is all."

"As you say. But these are King Tratton's orders, and to be obeyed forthwith and without question. And as to your labor shortage, I would not fret. Yours was one of the last ships of the Fleet to receive a shipment of woodland rats; some of the others have been all but overwhelmed with their numbers, to the point where overcrowding has become a concern, and culling has become necessary."

"Aye, we hadta do a bit o' that ourselves. Only about half th' ones we got from Salam'dastron were fit to pull an oar."

Jagtar's gaze again shot toward Latura, so obviously not a searat herself in spite of her borrowed pirate's tunic. "And this is one of the ones you kept? The ones you thinned out must have been truly pathetic."

"'ey! I'm sittin' right here, y' know!"

"Hm. I might remove her tongue, to make her more docile." Jagtar returned his gaze to Trangle. "But those were just the rats from the Northlands I was talking about. Our intelligence indicates Urthblood's resettlement campaign has barely begun in Mossflower, and there should be many more coming our way - perhaps, ultimately, even more than there were from the North. So you may find your rowing benches filled yet, Captain. But for now, your current load of slaves must be delivered to Talaga."

Trangle pretended to deliberate this edict, then feigned grudging acceptance, although in truth he'd had little issue with these orders at all; the _Redfoam_ could sail almost as easily under canvas alone as with the oarslaves bending their backs to the effort. "Awright. Awright, I'll set course fer Talaga, an' let Gov'ner Martinoy have my slaves if 'ee wants ... "

"Martinoy is no longer governor there," Jagtar interrupted. "Voccola now presides over Talaga."

"Oh? Old Martin do sumpthin' to displease His Majesty?"

"The former governor was a resource channeled to new uses. As I said earlier, Captain, things change."

"Indeed they do. So, I'll let Voccola have all my slaves an' woodland rats - except fer her." Trangle pointed at Latura. "She's special, as I'm sure ye'll agree."

"Not special in any way that will spare her, from what I see. Why do you value her so?"

"Because ... " Trangle leaned forward. "She's from Redwall."

There were few things the searat captain could have said to render a spyrat of Uroza's speechless, but this was one of them. Jagtar stared at the simpleton ratmaid with new eyes, now seeing her as far more than simple. "Is that so?"

Latura nodded like she was trying to make her head come off. "Ayup! I'm Latura o' Redwall! Martymouse said so!"

"There's two of 'em we got from that Abbey," Trangle explained. "Her, an' one other chained up down below. They only dwelt there part of a season, but what they saw 'n' heard while they were there I wager ye'll find especially int'restin'. 'Bout Redwall takin' in hordes o' rat refugees 'gainst Urthblood's orders, strainin' their own resources while settin' 'em at odds with the badger's forces, an' causin' divisions in the Abbeybeasts' own ranks too. Lotsa prime stuff I'm sure Urthblood would hate fer us to know ... "

"You don't say." Jagtar stared at Latura for a long time, the wheels in his head clearing spinning at full tilt. "Normally, I would take custody of these two rats and bear them directly to Spymaster Uroza for further interrogation. However, my current detail leaves me no option to do so; I must return to the _Darktide_ as soon as I am finished here. Therefore, you must take her there yourself, Captain Trangle. Deliver the other slaves to Talaga first, since those are Imperial orders, then set sail immediately for Terramort. Uroza will want to speak with these so-called 'Redwall rats' personally."

"Aye, got it. Talaga first, drop off our slaves there ... um, that mean all our slaves, or just th' woodland rats? 'Cos I got near half a hold o' disgraced searats chained to the oars down there too."

"The orders didn't specify. I'm sure you'll receive clarification upon your arrival."

"Right then, so it's Talaga first, then right to Terramort. Must be a mighty important mission ye're on yerself, that you can't bear these Redwall rats to Spymaster Uroza in better time than we could." Trangle paused a heartbeat before playing his hunch. "King Tratton wouldn't happen t' be takin' passage aboard th' _Darktide_ , would 'ee?"

Jagtar's eyes instantly narrowed in blatant suspicion. "What would lead you to think such a thing?"

"Oh, just yer sense of urgency. Plus, can't remember ever seein' two fleetrunners escortin' a mere galleon before."

"If King Tratton were aboard the _Darktide_ , that would qualify as a state secret. And I trust a mere captain such as yourself would prefer not to venture into such waters."

"Oh, I'm just playin' suppose here, Jags." The spyrat stiffened at this crass usage of an unbidden familiarism. "But if'n His Highness _were_ aboard th' _Darktide_ , t'would make me wonder where he was headed in such secrecy, wouldn't it?"

Before Jagtar could issue any firmer denial or warning, Latura burst out, "King Ratty's off to th' seamountain, big rock by th' sea! Goin' t' meet badred redbadger!"

Jagtar glared at the ratmaid. "How does this one come by King Tratton's travel plans?"

"Like I said b'fore, she don't miss much." Trangle gave a one-upped grin. "An' you just pretty much answered my question 'bout whether King Tratton's on th' _Darktide_."

"You were not meant to know that. That information is privileged."

Trangle's grin turned harder. "What're y' gonna do then? Kill me?"

Jagtar returned the captain's gaze without emotion. "You think you could stop me, if I tried?"

Latura leaned forward, paws on the table edge, as if this were a play staged for her amusement. "Ooo, tense!"

"Wouldn't do yer secret any good, even if y' did," Trangle went on. "Most o' me crew knows it too, an' what're y' gonna do - slay a whole shipfull o' rats? Then who'd take my slaves to Talaga, or this one t' Terramort?"

Jagtar simmered and stewed in his cold, taciturn fashion, realizing Trangle was absolutely right. Somehow this secret had gotten out, somerat had talked, and there would be no putting it back in the bottle now - which didn't mean it still couldn't be contained.

"A word of this to nobeast, Captain. You are to exchange news with no other ship for the remainder of your voyage, and decline all hails. When you reach Talaga, your crew is to be restricted to the ship. Is that clear?"

"Ooo, they ain't gonna like that. Talaga's got such nice beaches ... an' other nice places as well. They'll not take kindly to bein' denied shore leave on th' prime isle of the Empire."

"Your problem to handle. It wouldn't be a problem for you at all if you'd not come into such sensitive and classified information." Again Jagtar's eyes stabbed at Latura. "However you stumbled upon it."

"My lips're sealed. Tho' I am curious 'bout why His Majesty would be headin' for Salam'dastron, of all places. Thought his Accord with Urthblood was all worked out. He an' that badger cookin' sumpthin' else up 'tween 'em?"

"King Ratty's goin' fer a walk!" Latura supplied enthusiastically.

For the first time, Jagtar's mask of cold control began to crack, revealing an undercurrent of consternation. "She could not know that," he muttered hollowly. "She could not possibly know that."

Trangle leaned back in his chair, confident that the upper paw here was now his, and would remain so. "All this means naught t' me," he said with casual command. "Ye're goin' yer way, an' we're goin' ours, with th' new orders you gave us. Whatever His Majesty's up to, it's his affair an' don't concern us. We'll hold our tongues 'bout what we saw an' heard here, don't you worry, an' I'll even keep my crew off Talaga, much as it'll grind their gizzards. Yer 'state secret's' safe with me."

"It had better be, Captain. Otherwise Spymaster Uroza will be quite displeased with you - as will King Tratton himself."

"Nay, I'd not wanna buy myself that kinda trouble, would I? On, an' speakin' of Salam'dastron, got one more bit o' infermation you might find useful."

"And that is?"

"Yer bureau sent out word earlier this season t' be on th' lookout fer any trader vessel on th' high seas meetin' certain specifercations. Well, I happened t' see one that seemed t' fit yer needs quite nicely."

"And you didn't seize it?"

"That woulda been kinda hard, since she were tied up at Urthblood's mountain, with that badger an' all his killer squirrels an' gulls watchin' over her, an' a second ship full o' otters as well. That woulda wrecked the Accord real good, an' made Salam'dastron no place His Majesty would wanna sail anywhere near now."

"Is she still there now?"

"Was when I left, but that was days ago. Could be she's still there, could be she's set sail fer north, south or west. Her cap'n an' crew didn't exactly confer with us about their travel plans. But her name's the _Goodwill_ , an' she cuts a figure y' can't miss, once y' get broadside o' her - wide, low decks just like you said you was lookin' fer. Mixed crew, with a mouse as their captain."

"A mouse captain? I might actually know of this vessel." Jagtar was silent for some moments. "This report, coming at this time, does pose some problems. Just as I cannot withdraw from my present detail to bear your Redwall rats to Terramort, so I cannot leave my escort duty to spread word of the _Goodwill_. It's hardly a top priority, but Clucus must not be denied his playthings for too long, must he? Very well. If you should encounter any fleetrunners between here and Talaga, or between Talaga and Terramort, hail them and share with them what you've just told me. And if we cross paths with any other ships of the Fleet between here and our destination, we will likewise spread the word. It might take some time, but soon every warship in the Empire will be looking for the _Goodwill_!"

00000000000

"Ye're th' real thing, ain'tcher?"

Trangle stood with Latura on the high aft deck of the _Redfoam_ , watching Jagtar's fleetrunner recede into the distance in his haste to catch up to the _Darktide_ , whose red, black and green sails had already dwindled to a speck on the far horizon. The _Redfoam_ 's crew below and behind them, relieved to be rid of the spyrat and even more relieved to have been spared a boarding by Tratton himself, settled back into their more relaxed usual routine of seeing to their ship's day-to-day needs.

Latura pinched herself. "Ow! Yeah, I'm real. Least it hurts like I am ... "

The searat captain snorted. "I don't berlieve in ghosts, or spirits, or curses, or any o' that superstitious tripe so many o' my fellow searats buy inta. But I do berlieve th' evidence of my own eyes 'n' ears. I put stock in what I see, an' what I hear. You knew Tratton was aboard th' _Darktide_ 'fore any rat on this ship coulda known it. You knew he was makin' fer Salam'dastron, which Jagtar confirmed with 'is own surprise at you speakin' it. You even seemed t' know what he aimed t' do once he got there, which shook our spyrat friend up more'n I'm sure he cared t' show. Um ... just what _is_ His Majesty goin' to that mountain fer anyway?"

"Toldjer. He's goin' fer a walk. Wants t' see th' trees an' meadows an' forests ... "

Trangle gave a snerk. "Then he's in fer a disappointment, 'cos there ain't naught like that 'round Salam'dastron ... as he oughta know 'imself, having been there."

"Then I guess he'll walk 'til he gets t' someplace where there are trees an' meadows an' forests ... "

Trangle's eyes widened at this implication. "What, y' mean he's goin' inland? How? What for? He ain't got enuff rats on just that one galleon t' stage a deep military incursion. Are other ships of th' Fleet meetin' up with 'im? An' why would 'ee be goin' t' Salam'dastron, the heart of Urthblood's power, 'stead o' somewhere farther up or down th' coast?"

"Dunno. Just goin' fer a walk, is all. Mebbe he wants ter get badred redbadger's leave t' do it. But 'ee's gonna be disappointed, King Ratty. Redbadger's not there."

Trangle scowled. "Whaddya mean Urthblood's not there? 'Course 'ee is. Saw 'im myself when I was there, conferrin' with his damnable squirrels out on the sands."

"Mebbe he was then, but he ain't now. Can't see th' mountain clear when 'ee's there - all dark 'n' shadowy, all those streams messin' things up - but I see it clear now. Which means he ain't there."

"Is King Tratton sailin' into a trap?"

"A trap? Hmm ... don't think so. Just things not workin' out like ev'reybeast's expectin' they will."

"You might've mentioned this while Jagtar was still here, y' know."

"Ummm ... yeah, guess mebbe I shoulda. But he didn't seem t' wanna hear no more."

Trangle fell into deep contemplation. Could Tratton have somehow learned Urthblood meant to leave Salamandastron, assuming the badger had in fact done so? With so many of the Gawtrybe reassigned to Mossflower, it was true that the mountain stood more lightly defended than at anytime in recent seasons. But there were still the gulls to contend with; as long as those seabirds could pour fire on Tratton's ships, any assault must be doomed to failure. Were the ironclads even now on their way to Salamandastron to join in some audacious sneak attack? Had Clucus finally succeeded in coming up with some foolproof way of fireproofing regular wooden ships and their canvas sails, or had that ferret devised some other manner of superweapon likely to topple Urthblood from power, or capture his stronghold out from under him? If so, Trangle would hardly be informed of such developments; such "state secrets" were the sort the Searat King would hold close to the vest until he was ready to unleash them upon an unsuspecting world.

He returned his attention to Latura at his side. "My crew's been sayin' fer some time now you got special gifts - sumpthin' protectin' you, stuff like that. I see it now. I see it. Ye're no fake seer. You got a real gift ... an' I got a genuine seer of my very own. Only cap'n in all th' Fleet who can claim such. So, how does this sight o' yers work anyway? How's it gonna help yer ol' Cap'n?"

"I know what I know, an' that's all there is to it. Can't tell you no more'n that."

"Ah. 'Course. But you could tell us if we're headin' inta danger, so's we might be able t' avoid it, couldn'tcher?"

"Might 'appen. I'll know when I know."

"'Course you will. An' what about a benefit or boon - sumpthin' that'd boost 'n' bolster yer good Cap'n, an' all th' rest of the _Redfoam_? You are our mascot an' good luck charm, after all. Think y' might be able t' steer us toward a little actual good luck that'd lift all our futures?"

"Um, that'd be nice, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice. Real nice. You think on it a spell, an' let us know if anything ... comes to ye, won'tcher?"

First Mate Laverty came up to them. "Steersrat wants t' know, should we set course fer Talaga at once, Cap'n?"

Trangle fished into his voluminous jacket pockets and pulled out a tart, passing it to Latura, who inspected it with sniffs and a keen eye. "Not quite yet, Lavs. Since we'll be catchin' the southwest flows to take us there anyway, might as well make a quick side stop on our way there. Won't delay us overmuch, an' you know how fond I am of juicy tropical fruits when I can get 'em!"

Laverty grinned, fond of such sweet delicacies himself, as were many others among the crew. "Aye, Cap'n! Holds off th' scurvy, jus' like ye allers says! I'll tell Hartog t' steer us toward th' southern isles at once!"

As the first mate scrambled away to relay these orders, Trangle glanced askance at Latura, still examining her pastry. "That tart's fer eatin', Lattie, not sniffin' an' oglin'. Go on, tuck in!"

"Just checkin' fer mold ... "

"Mold? Fah! Think I'd be walkin' 'round with moldy vittles in my pockets? There're fresh-baked from this morn, fit fer a captain ... an' his seer too! We'll leave th' moldy stuff fer those wretches down in th' rowin' galley. You never hafta worry about stummickin' swill like that again, long as y' stick by me an' allers serve me true!"

"True ... " Latura gave the tart one last turn in her paw and, satisfied her fare was indeed mold-free for the moment, popped it in her mouth and nibbled away contentedly.


	5. Chapter IV

**IV.**

 **THE RIVER MOSS**

"Well, isn't this just like old times?"

The others looked to Vanessa at this statement. "Yah," Traveller conceded, "but let's just hope this outing to Foxguard ends better than the last one, wot?"

The Abbess sat dead center upon one of the barges ferrying the swordfox brigade back across the Moss. Around her in a protective circle sat Traveller and Saticoy, the very hare duo who'd accompanied her on her previous, ill-fated trip to the still-building Foxguard the spring before, and some of the foxes, including Roxroy. Around the edges of the simple flat vessel, additional foxes and weasels saw to the punting and paddling to bear all of them across the river. A second ferry, that one bearing Tolar, Mona, Mina and the remainder of the Northlander company, roughly paralleled their own as the two craft cut across the currents to reach the opposite banks.

The junior swordfox readily concurred with the old hare scout. "Yes, let us hope so. I still shudder at the memory of that incident with Snoga, and all that it cost us."

Vanessa turned her untroubled gaze to him. "Now, Roxroy, surely you don't expect my return to Foxguard to summon up another army of belligerent rebel shrews, do you?"

The fox couldn't help but laugh at this absurdity. "No, not when you put it like that, Abbess. But there are other concerns these days, not least of which is the strife and tension between the Gawtrybe and Redwall. And there are still quite a few of those squirrels stationed at Foxguard, at least for the present."

Tibball, seated between the two hares (naturally), blanched at this reminder of the Abbey-acrimonious squirrels and their quasi-occupation of the fox fortress to which he was returning, having accepted Tolar's offer of an ambassadorship for the vulpine swordsbeasts. "I hope there's no trouble with them. After the way they've acted toward Redwall this season, I'm beginning to think those treejumpers could be capable of anything. Honestly, I'm not looking forward to dwelling amongst them for any length of time - they make me even more uneasy than foxes do." He quickly looked to Roxroy. "Oh, um, no offense."

Roxroy smiled amiably at the rabbit. "None taken. You're actually showing quite a bit of bravery for your species, if you don't mind my saying, and I find it commendable that you've accepted this post. But if the Gawtrybe intimidate you so much, why didn't you wait to follow along at a later time? Sword Tolar made it clear that that would have been perfectly acceptable to him, and you didn't need to give us your decision right away, or leave with us in the morning."

"Ah, well, no time like the present, is there? Besides, when I heard that two of the Long Patrol would be escorting the Abbess to Foxguard, I figured that would be some fine company to be in. I mean, if it's good enough for the Abbess, it's surely good enough for me, isn't it!"

Vanessa gazed across the sun-rippled waters at their companion raft. "Yes, Tolar seems quite content to leave my escorting to others, even to the point of crossing on a separate barge."

The mute hare Saticoy snorted, while Traveller showed equal bemusement. "If our rabbit envoy here is intimidated by squirrels, ma'am, I think that fox chief's intimidated by _you_. Notice he had precious little t' say by way of conversation our entire stroll 'tween the Abbey an' the river, an' didn't seem too keen on returnin' any chit-chat you tried t' start up with him. Same for Mona too. An' somehow his explanation that there'll be plenty of time for talk during your stay at Foxguard didn't hold much bally water. Almost like he was tryin' to avoid you, while walkin' right beside you!"

"Yes, I noticed that too. Well, the whole situation is somewhat awkward, that can't be denied, with all the strain between us and Urthblood these days. We can hardly blame him for his reserve, can we?"

Traveller sat studying the mouse as she spoke, just as he had for nearly all of this march so far. As the only creature present who knew the secret contained within the twice-former Abbess, he wasn't certain how much he should pretend, how much he should defer to her, how much he should acknowledge their shared conspiracy - either when others were watching and listening, or when they weren't - and how much he should simply keep quiet and follow her lead to allay any suspicions. But he and the Colonel had agreed on the importance of one of them accompanying the hidden Warrior to Foxguard, and since Clewiston drew the duty to see Vanessa down to Grayfoot's and back, this escort would fall to the Field Marshal.

The old hare's gaze momentarily went to Saticoy, but he glanced away again before making eye contact with his mute companion. Even amongst his fellow Long Patrol, the perpetually-silent scout often went unnoticed or unconsidered, leading those around him to unwittingly drop their guard - a useful trait for infiltrating a potential adversary and collecting valuable intelligence through slips of the tongue, but now a double-edged sword in Traveller's current situation, as the Field Marshal had to constantly remind himself that Saticoy remained unaware of Martin's return, and that Traveller must do nothing to inadvertently give this away to the astute younger hare.

At last the two rafts made it to the far side of the Moss, the Redwallers' ferry butting against the soft banks a fair few moments ahead of Tolar's. Vanessa sprang up onto the grass and playfully pranced among the cool blades, boasting, "Goodbeasts win, goodbeasts win!"

Tolar stepped off from his own landing raft and gave the mouse a sour look. "That's hardly diplomatic, Abbess."

She all but stuck her tongue out at him. "What's the harm in a little juvenile fun on such a lovely day as this, Sword?"

"At least we agree on the juvenile part. Now, shall we take a rest break here so our rowers can relax a bit after their efforts, or should we proceed on to Foxguard immediately?"

"I'd just as soon be off at once," Lady Mina weighed in. "I'm eager to rejoin my fellow Gawtrybe, even if that will essentially constitute the commencement of my exile from Redwall - an exile I hope may be reversed someday," she added, with a meaningful glance Vanessa's way.

"That will depend entirely on how circumstances change in the days and seasons ahead, Lady. Although do keep in mind that I'm no longer a serving Abbess, so that decision will rest far more with Geoff than with me."

One corner of Mina's mouth twisted downward. "I'm not for one moment dismissing the influence you still wield over Redwall's leadership, to whatever extent and through whatever means you do. Your voice will still carry considerable weight in that decision, I am sure." The Gawtrybe Lady heaved a sigh. "But back to the matters at paw. If the rest of you need to stop here for a while, I might go ahead on my own. As the only squirrel among our present company, I'd be able to scout forward through the treetops and double back to warn you if any danger lies ahead."

"Danger?" Tolar asked. "What danger are we likely to encounter on this side of the Moss, so close to Foxguard?"

Mina looked to the swordfox chieftain. "Need I remind you that only just this season, a hundred and a half horderats escaped your notice until they were past you and at the quarry's door?"

Tolar scowled. "Point taken. Very well. If you wish to range ahead of us and perhaps reach Foxguard well before we do, that is your choice. We'll follow along at our own pace, whether we stop here or not."

All this time, while Sword and squirrel Lady debated their travel details, two other foxes stood apart, consulting in hushed tones. Mona stepped away from Kyslith, who'd crossed on the raft with her and Tolar, and declared to the others, "I'm not going to Foxguard."

Tolar looked at her askance, the others with mere surprise. "Now's a rather inopportune time to announce this, Mona. If you have it in mind to return to Redwall, there's a river and half a day's march behind us already."

"I'm not going back to Redwall. And perhaps I should say I _am_ going to Foxguard - but not just yet. There's somewhere else I need to go first."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The quarry. Master Trelayne discovered veins of necessary glassmaking material when he was there, so Kyslith and I are going there to collect some and bring it back to Foxguard for his workshop."

"Oh really? Nice of you to wait until now to tell us."

"It doesn't need to waylay any of the rest of you. Kyslith and I are perfectly capable of doing this on our own ... although, if you'd like to spare us a fox or weasel or two to help us bear the ores back to Foxguard, that would be appreciated."

Vanessa monitored this development with rapt attention, then stepped forward. "This rather changes my own plans then. I'd intended to visit the quarry myself on my way back from Foxguard, to see how work there progresses and how all our friends fare, but if some of us are going there now, I might as well join them. Besides, I trust Mona and Kyslith will be greeted more warmly by our moles and otters and the Guosim - not to mention all of the former searat slaves - if those two foxes are in the company of myself and two of the Long Patrol."

Tolar considered this. "Well, since I hadn't even planned on you coming to Foxguard with us until you informed us of your intentions yesterday, I have very little say in this matter. You are of course free to go where you will, and I think I can spare a couple of my weasel laborers for Mona and Kyslith's benefit. But I am eager to be back at Foxguard as soon as I may, so the rest of us will press on, and look for you when you arrive."

Mona showed less than full enrapturement at the prospect of having Vanessa travelling with her to the quarry, without the buffer or support of Tolar's presence. Hoping to hide her discomfort before it became too obvious, she looked to the rabbit. "And what of you, good Tibball? Will you proceed with Tolar directly to Foxguard to commence your office, or come with us to the quarry? Keep in mind, this detour could delay us by at least a day or two."

"Oh, ah, but what's a day or two? If it doesn't bother you, ma'am, why should it bother me? Besides, with so many moles and shrews and otters at the quarry, this may be my last chance for quite awhile to spend some time among my fellow woodlanders."

"There are Gawtrybe at Foxguard," Mina pointedly reminded Tibball.

"Oh, um, erm ... "

"Then it's settled," Vanessa said with authority, rescuing Tibball from his moment of social awkwardness. "I'll make my side trip to the quarry now rather than on my return journey, and then join Mona, Kyslith, Tibball and my Long Patrol escorts when we're all ready to leave for Foxguard."

"Very well." Tolar pointed to two of the weasels. "Weel, Floop, trade your full packs of Realms for the ones we emptied at Grayfoot's, and go with this party to the quarry. You'll be in charge of bearing whatever Kyslith needs you to bring along to Foxguard for him. The rest of us might as well be underway at once, since I'd like to be back inside the fortress well before nightfall."

The fox Sword stepped over to Mona, sensing she was still uneasy at being forced to pursue a different path in the company of the unnerving Abbess, and took her paws in his. "Eyes and ears open, and stay sharp, my vixen."

"Always, Tolar. Always." She knew that what would sound to other ears like a simple plea to take care of herself was actually a coded message to continue to monitor Vanessa closely, and not let the mouse turn the tables on her. Mona still hadn't shared with Tolar the incident of the whole Abbey being sent to sleep except for Vanessa and her pawful of confidants - one of whom marched with them now, no surprise - or the full story of the examination up in the Infirmary, so he only knew part of the reason behind her suspicion of the Abbess. But he knew enough, and that was enough for now.

The company thus divided each according to their immediate destination, they parted ways there on the riverbank, the smaller group bearing off to the east-northeast while the larger pushed almost due south toward the commanding red tower dominating the forest horizon in that direction and beckoning the absent swordsbeasts to be home again.

 **THE QUARRY**

Vanessa's unheralded arrival at the worksite was met with joy by the quarrybeasts, who had either never seen her in any manner of cogent state, or had not done so for what seemed longer than they could remember. With no time to dispatch a Sparra to inform the laborers of her last-minute plans to travel to Foxguard, her sudden appearance on this side of the Moss took everybeast quite by surprise.

The first creatures they encountered on the scene were the Guosim, ringing the topside of the quarry pit in a defensive circle to watch for the approach of any enemies - or, as this day would have it, friends. Among the shrews were most of the children of the former searat slaves, unsuited for the heavy rock work of quarrying due to their tender seasons. A pawful of the shrews detached themselves from their lookout and babysitting duties to escort Vanessa and her mixed group of travel companions down into the quarry proper.

Vanessa regarded the long sloping stone ramp with grudging admiration, as did the others with her who'd also never seen it before. "You have to admit, when Urthblood puts his mind to something, he doesn't go halfway, does he?"

Traveller snorted derisively at this, while Saticoy uncorked a somewhat ruder sound.

Montybank, Foremole and Lekkas, alerted by the shrews' shouts from above, turned out to meet the visitors at the foot of the ramp.

"Nessa!" Monty got down on one knee to embrace his old mouse friend. "Is it really you? Returned to yore senses, I mean?"

"That's the rumor." She eyed the sheathed sword strapped at his waist, the scabbard now canted at an angle with its point against the rocky ground due to his crouched stance. "Now stop squeezing me, before you force all my returned sensibility right back out of me again!"

Foremole was next, taking both of Vanessa's paws in his hefty digging claws. "Ho hurr, oi'm gurtly 'eartened to be a-seein' ee loik this, H'Abbess marm. Makes et loik all's well with ee wurld agin, burr hurr hurr!"

Lekkas brought up the end of the impromptu reception line, greeting Vanessa with a stolid pawshake. "I'll be honest, Abbess - I never thought I'd see you back to your old self again. With all that's gone awry this season, it's good to know at least one thing's gotten better. But you were about the last beast we expected to see here this season. What brings you this way?"

"We received a surprise visit of our own from Tolar and his foxes a few days ago, as you may already know from our last Sparra dispatch to you, so I decided to join them for their return trip across the river in order to stop by here and see for myself how things are going. As you might recall, I wasn't exactly in any state to assist with the planning of Freetown when you first proposed it." Vanessa's gaze fell to Lekkas's paws; three of the four showed bandages or splints, with an additional poultice wrapping around one length of his tail. "You're looking a little worse for wear, if I may say."

"Quarrying's hard work, Abbess. Moles are naturals at it, and ours here have suffered not so much as a scrape or bruise between them. And otters have the brawn and surepawedness to shift heavy stone without too many ill affects. The rest of us have sustained our share of strains, sprains and smashed paws. Nothing we can't manage, or aren't willing to endure for our cause."

"Still, perhaps it would be prudent to leave the heavy labors to Montybank and Foremole, if this is an issue." Vanessa noticed Clovis over Lekkas's shoulder, unable to entirely hide her distress over this discussion of the male mouse's injuries - although Clovis sported heavy protective wrappings on each of her footpaws, indicating that she too had been taking part in rock-working labors here.

"Freetown is to be our home, Abbess," said Lekkas. "We want to be part of it, all the way through from start to finish, in spite of the hardships. We need to be. And don't forget, some of us served as domestics in searat households and on their ships, so we've some basic first aid and healer's experience among us. That being said, I suppose we could use some mouse- and squirrel-sized boots to better protect our footpaws, and maybe some heavy work gloves as well."

"I'll see what I can do about that when I get back to the Abbey." Vanessa glanced about her at the quarry floor; everywhere she looked she saw the evidence of this massive endeavor. Wood rollers, scaffold block-and-tackle cranes with ropes and pulleys, and piles upon piles of stacked red sandstone bricks and blocks, more than she'd seen since her prior visit to Foxguard, when the stockpile of cut stone for the fox fortress had resembled nothing so much as a miniature city of its own ... or when Redwall itself was being built under the direction of Abbess Germaine, since those memories resided in her as well. "I must say, it appears you're quite far along with your efforts. Maybe protective clothing won't be needed after all, if you're fairly close to wrapping up your labors here."

"Foremole and his crew have already cut and shaped all the stone for the central residence, that is true, and we'll soon be ready to start moving it up out of the quarry and ferrying it across the river. But that will be just the first building of many, and there's still much to be done here."

"Still, I'd think you'd want to suspend your labors here and retire back to the Plains at the earliest opportunity, to oversee construction there."

"Some of us will. And Clovis will be accompanying all the children there, along with some of their parents. We've decided the first residence will be for the families, until we can get more of the outlying homesteads constructed. We'll not be relocating back to Redwall in numbers until we have someplace to stay."

"You had someplace to stay. Or did you mean someplace you wouldn't have to share with rats?"

"Our feelings on _that_ matter are clear enough that we don't need to repeat them again, Abbess. As you've no doubt heard."

"Ah. And speaking of things being clear - and of Clovis, whom you just mentioned - have the two of you set a date yet?"

"Um, a date?"

"For your nuptials. It's painfully obvious to anybeast with eyes that the two of you are betrothed, even if you've yet to announce it. I'll happily perform the ceremony myself, either here or at the Abbey, although personally I feel Redwall weddings are something special. The last batch I presided over were great fun, even if that incident with Broggen and Sister Aurelia did put a tragic damper on things afterwards."

Lekkas seemed floored by Vanessa's bald astuteness, while behind him Clovis looked on wide-eyed and speechless. "I ... we haven't really ... discussed ... I mean ... "

"Of course you have. But I understand if you want to put it off until after you're settled in Freetown. The way things are proceeding here, that shouldn't be any later than the middle of next season!"

"Uh, thank you, Abbess. We'll let you, um, know."

"Of course. But back to your various ills and hurts. While I'm sure you've managed adequately on your own, now that you've the benefit of not one but two expert healers on site, you may as well avail yourselves of our talents, no?"

Lekkas's gaze went from Vanessa to Mona and back again. "Perhaps that does make a certain amount of sense ... although I daresay some of us will be more comfortable with you than with her."

"Oh? It's not like she's a rat."

Lekkas ignored this jab. "Why is she here, anyway, and with weasels? Where are the rest of Tolar's foxes who visited the Abbey?"

"On their way back to Foxguard, along with Lady Mina, whose recent actions and choices have sadly left her unwelcome at Redwall. Good Kyslith here will be staying on as Foxguard's resident glassmaker, even as Master Trelayne returns to Salamandastron, and he needed to secure some materials from here for his craft." Vanessa cocked an ear toward the cave opening into the underground part of the quarry, through which drifted the muted, distant cacophony of hammer and chisel from within. "I assume he'll be able to work around Foremole to get what he needs."

"That should pose no problem, Abbess," the fox assured her and Foremole. "The solid sandstone suitable for building purposes would not contain the substances I require, just as what I seek would render the rock containing it unsuitable for construction. I'm sure we'll have no trouble working down there in the caverns at the same time, although I may need to ask his indulgence of a borrowed pick and lamp for my labors. But it shouldn't take me more than a day or two to collect what I need, and I can always return for more later this season if my supply at Foxguard should run low."

"Then that's how long we'll be here," Vanessa announced. "As soon as Kyslith has finished here, we'll all be off to Foxguard, and let you diggers get back to your quarrying without the distraction of having us underpaw."

"All o' ye?" Monty asked in surprise. "Even you, Nessa?"

She nodded. "I've not visited Foxguard since it was completed, for obvious reasons. And in light of the troubles of this season, I feel somebeast of authority from the Abbey ought to pay a visit there, just to make sure everybeast concerned knows what's what. With Geoff back in the Abbot's chair, that leaves me as the logical choice."

The otter Skipper was clearly uneasy about this, revisiting in his mind what happened at that site the previous spring. "Well, if yore shore, Nessa. Long as it doesn't turn out like it did last time."

"Oh, I doubt it will, chap." Traveller looked to Vanessa with secret meaning. "Will it, Abbess marm?"

"Oh, I should very much say not, Field Marshal," she returned with equal aplomb. "I'll be watching my head very carefully this time, you can be sure of that."

Mona looked from hare to mouse, unable to decipher the maddeningly veiled context she was sure was passing between them in these carefully-chosen words, right under everybeast else's noses.

"Feels almost like I oughta be goin' with ye, 'specially since I'm now carryin' Martin's sword." Monty slapped at the hilt protruding from the scabbard at his waist, the legendary red pommel stone glinting in the afternoon light. "Then again, after hearing 'bout yore escapades in the Infirmary with those four rats 'n' Lady Mina, mebbe I oughta just give it to you, since you've shown you know how t' handle a blade better'n I do!"

"My, word of that incident certainly has gotten around, hasn't it? But I suspect my swordswinging skills came to me when need called for it, as often happens at Redwall. You keep it, Monty. If I take it to Foxguard, there's always the chance it could get mixed up with Tolar's, and then we'd never know which was which!"

"Nay, we'd not want that!" Monty looked to the two hares with an expression of earnest consternation. "Sorry t' hear 'bout Fawkwell an' Sergeant Peppertail, by th' way. Good coves, they was, an' a sad loss fer all Redwall."

"Thank you, Skipper chap. We've buried an' memorialized those two scrappers, an' their names'll jolly well live on in Long Patrol history as upstandin' hares who fought the good fight."

"As they will in the annals of Redwall," Vanessa added. "I may not have favored their mission, but they gave their lives doing what they felt was right in defense of a helpless creature, and that's the very essence of Redwall."

Monty regarded the mouse. "Just why _did_ you lay down th' law that nobeast was to go after Lattie, Nessa?"

"It gets ... complicated. I've made my reasons known at enough length already - although, if I'm to be dwelling here for the next day or two, perhaps I'll dive into the whole tale again around a meal, or an outdoor campfire. If you weren't there to see how it all unfolded, I imagine it must seem confusing."

Traveller smirked. "More'n a bit confusing even for those of us who _were_ there, and attendin' the councils an' consultations too!"

"Look for'ard to it then, Nessa." Monty shifted his attention to the lone rabbit of their company. "Now here's one I'd not thought t' see back this way again, this season or any other. But, I s'pose if yore lookin' to get back to your woodland home, this way's as good as any!"

Tibball worked his paws before him. "Yes, well, truth be told, I'm on my way to Foxguard too."

Vanessa smiled playfully. "Yes, Tolar made him an offer he couldn't refuse. But that's another tale that can wait to be told in full until a more leisurely time. We've brought along plenty of fresh Redwall fare to supplement what you have here, and we can always send for the Sparra to bring us more if need be. So let's let you tidy up your labors for the day, and then we'll reward your hard work and our hard travels with some fine food, refreshing drinks and news shared among good friends!"

 **FOXGUARD**

"I'd say we made pretty good time, all things considered."

Tolar, marching at Mina's side as their company broke from the woods into the clearing surrounding Foxguard, nodded. "Yes. Lady, a swift and efficient river crossing can do that - along with minimal rest breaks." Although the fox fortress lay less than half a day's march from Redwall as the sparrow flew, there was always the crossing of the Moss to consider. And with a company as large as theirs, Foxguard's single small ferry would have proven woefully inadequate, requiring multiple passages. Thus, their slight detour to the northeast to take advantage of the Abbeybeast's quarrying barges had saved them much work and maybe even some time as well, even if it did require an additional southward leg of the journey to reach the swordsbeasts' stronghold. They now reached their destination under the shadowy eye of dusk, the last glints of sunlight reflecting off the subdued rosy tones of the observation dome high above as the soaring lookout tower straddled the divide between day and night.

The fox Sword could not help but notice a mixed wistfulness growing in Mina during this final stage of their trek. She seemed enthused by the prospect of rejoining her fellow Gawtrybe, and perhaps relieved to finally be away from Redwall, where things had grown so awkward for her. And perhaps Alexander's absence - and the reasons behind that absence - had also made it easier for the Gawtrybe Lady to let go of her Abbey life and embrace an exile at Foxguard, whether that exile turned out to be permanent or not. But the ignominy of the withdrawal, and the sting of personal loss in her uncertain relationship with her estranged husband, were surely taking an inner toll on her, and no matter how much calm command she tried to project, Tolar had known her long enough to recognize when her mask of authoritative assuredness was merely that.

Halfway across the clearing, Mina focused on the ramparts topping the low outer wall ahead of them. "Is it my imagination, or do I see only squirrels staffing your battlements?"

Tolar scowled in derision. "Wouldn't surprise me. The Captain does sometimes act as if he owns the place, and I can only imagine how Sappakit and the others must have suffered under Custis while I was away. But we'll quickly get things back to the proper status quo ... unless he's determined for some reason I'm not to be allowed back into my own home."

"If he tries anything like _that_ , he'd better have written orders from Lord Urthblood himself to back him up, or else he'll have me to contend with as well as you. There's been too much friction between swordfox and Gawtrybe already this season, and I sincerely hope my presence at Foxguard can help prevent any more."

"From your lips to Custis's ears, Lady. Hmm ... they haven't made any move to hail us, even though they must surely see us by now."

"I thought you said you'd repaired relations with Captain Custis, and were cooperating with him fully?"

"I thought I was ... "

The hails finally came when the marchers drew close enough for the squirrel sentries to ascertain that Lady Mina walked among them, and then the greeting seemed aimed at her and her alone. Tolar's half-frown revealed his feeling on this rather tactless display. "Well, at least one of us is welcome here."

Circling around to the fortress entrance, the returning travellers found both Sappakit and Captain Custis waiting to greet them just within the enclosed grounds. Beyond them stood the newly-installed glass statue of Sword Machus on its sandstone pedestal, symbolically situated halfway between the sole entryway and the fortress building itself to draw any visitor's eye toward it immediately. This was Tolar's first time emerging from the tunnel under the wall since the memorial's installation, and he had to admit to himself that, even in the dimness of approaching twilight, the effect was dramatic - so much so that he failed to immediately notice the presence of other creatures on the parade grounds who most definitely should not have been there.

While Sappakit met his current Sword with a hesitant nod, seemingly unsure exactly what he should say, Custis received Mina with far more confidence and formality. Bowing low with a sweep and a flourish as only puffy-tailed creatures could, he then straightened and said, "Welcome to Foxguard, Lady, and may your stay here, however long it be, be to your liking. My squirrels and I will do all in our power to make it so."

"Thank you, Captain. I saw from the walltop during our approach that you've certainly not slacked in the defense of Foxguard during Sword Tolar's absence, and I'm sure he thanks you for your efforts in this regard."

Tolar, upon returning after any sojourn from Foxguard, would normally ask his caretaker lieutenant for a brief status statement on any noteworthy happenings while he was away. Now, however, he directed a different and far more pointed question Sappakit's way.

"Sapp, who are all these creatures I see on our grounds? And what are they doing inside our walls?"

"Uh, well, sir - "

Custis cut off the hemming fox. "Ah yes. There's been a bit of a change in the status of things around here while you were gone, Sword. Another reason I wished to receive you immediately upon your arrival, so that we might retire at once to your chambers where everything can be explained."

Tolar hovered between profound puzzlement and deep irritation, his angry vexation winning out as he turned his gaze on his fellow fox. "If you've allowed beasts inside Foxguard who shouldn't have been admitted, Sapp, you'd best have a fur-sodden good reason!"

"Oh, don't be angry with _him_ , Sword," Custis chided in his arrogantly knowing manner. "It's not as if he had any choice in the matter."

Tolar narrowed his gaze at the squirrel. "What's going on here? What have you done?"

"Upstairs, Sword, and all will be explained."

Seeing that the Gawtrybe captain clearly help the upper paw here, in both authority and in the secret knowledge of whatever had allowed him to take command of the situation so fully, Tolar gave a grudging nod and fell into step behind Custis on their way to the tower. Mina, curious as anybeast, followed along, although Tolar noticed that no black-clad fox of his brigade made any move to join them. Whatever was happening here, they knew to stay out of it and let their Sword address it on his own.

Which hardly filled Tolar with confidence.

As they crossed the evening grounds, their course took them nearer some of the interlopers, a few of whom came closer to gawk derisively at the returned commander.

These strangers were foxes, every single one, but none known to Tolar, and none garbed in the black uniform jackets of his brigade. Instead, they wore the patchwork, mismatched and crude clothing of common brigands and bandits, and their obvious manner was just as crude, exuding an air of shiftless brutishness.

"Hordebeasts," Tolar bit off. "You've let hordebeasts into Foxguard. Why?"

Custis clucked his tongue. "Really, Sword, have you grown so out of touch behind your walls here?"

They came to the statue of Machus, around which a half-dozen of the uncouth visitors were gathered. As he passed, Tolar's ears picked up snatches of uncomplimentary talk and derogatory sniggering, directed not at him but at the statue itself. They were openly ridiculing it, insulting it as a laughable farce rather than the masterpiece of glassmaking artistry that it was. Or perhaps their scorn was meant for the subject of the piece, an open insult to Machus himself.

Tolar also picked up hints of an accent in their voices, an accent which gave birth to a terrible suspicion in his mind.

If true, then these coarse foxes derided the statue of Machus not through the ignorant enmity of villains but through the bitter jealousy of estranged brothers - and that was far worse.

This was bad. This was as bad as it could get.

Entering the three-story fortress encircling the central tower, the three of them proceeded in grim silence to Tolar's quarters - which were also Mona's quarters, although the incurious Gawtrybe commander never once commented on her absence, apparently eager to address this more formal business to the exclusion of all else. As they came to the doorway to the Sword's office, Tolar paused at the threshold upon seeing - as he'd half-expected to find - that the chamber was already occupied.

A lone dogfox sat at the table facing the doorway, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered. Various garments layered his formidable torso like the primitive finery of a barbarian warlord. He leaned back in the center chair - Tolar's chair - with his footpaws propped up on the tabletop, the gray-faded pawpads on display scuffed and scarred from seasons of hard action. A garish scar split his right eye, running from above the brow to down the cheek - but the eye at the center of that long-healed gash, like its companion, glinted with a keen, unforgiving gleam as the lounging fox assessed the newcomers.

"Ah! Th' legendary Sword o' Foxguard finally deigns t' make an appearance! Imagine my surprise when I got here yesterday only t' find you'd toddled off t' cavort with yer liddle Abbey friends! Must say, it made accommerdations 'round here a lot roomier fer us. Nice digs y' got here ... "

Tolar couldn't keep the scowl of dissatisfaction from his face - nor could he prevent that scowl from showing itself as a half-snarl.

"Get your Vulpez-damned footpaws off my table, Jaffox."


	6. Chapter V

**V.**

 **FOXGUARD**

"Touchy, aren't we?" But, in spite of his tone of mocking challenge, Jaffox complied, swinging his legs down and straightening in Tolar's chair.

The Sword looked to Custis. "What is _he_ doing here?"

"I should think you'd be able to figure that out well enough on your own. But, if you insist upon both clarification and verification, I'm sure Jaffox will be happy to produce his orders for you."

"But o' course." The seated fox reached into the layered folds of his battle dress and withdrew a folded parchment, casually holding it forth for anybeast to take who cared to. Tolar stormed up to the table, reaching across and snatching the dispatch from Jaffox's grasp. Even as he unfolded it to read it for himself, he found the newly-arrived Northlander pre-empting his own scans of the words therein.

"I'm yer new second-in-command," Jaffox gloated, "by special pers'nal appointment of Lord Urthblood 'imself. 'parently he's not happy with the job ye're doin' here, an' thought a more loyal an' no-nonsense Number Two'd help set you back on th' right path."

Tolar glanced up from the parchment, the badger-scrawled orders there confirming what Jaffox had just told him. "Second-in-command, hm? Which means you'll still be taking your orders from me."

"We'll see about that, won't we? Lord Urthblood wouldn'ta had me come all th' way down 'ere if he liked what he was hearin' from Foxguard. Thinks it needs fixin', he does, or at least that's how I read it. Well, I'm his fixer. So yeah, gimme all the orders you want - but don't try givin' any silly ones, like makin' us march backwards or stand on one leg in th' rain or sweep yer lawns or tie us up with any grunt makework or humiliatin' duty, or you'll see just how quick I can ignore you. An' my foxes'll follow me, not you."

Tolar threw down the dispatch in frustration. "This is intolerable! I can't have a second whole brigade sharing Foxguard, at odds with my own and choosing when to obey and when to defy me!"

"But that's just what you got, ain't it? But what makes you think we'll be at odds, as you put it? I'm all up fer cooperation, an' that's what I'll be expectin' from you, Sword. Lord Urthblood's got stuff 'ee needs t' get done in Mossflower this season 'n' next, an' he's countin' on us t' get it done. Long as you, me 'n' the Captain over there work toward that common goal, with no steppin' on each other's tails or interferin' with each other's business, I see us gettin' along just fine."

"In addition to Jaffox now being your official second-in-command," Custis said from behind Tolar, "I've also appointed him special consultant for the resettlement campaign in Mossflower. Since you seem to find the entire operation distasteful and beneath you, I figured I could use a fox who's actually overseen some of the campaign up North, one with valuable field experience and no qualms about rolling up his sleeves and wading into the thick of things to produce the kind of results Lord Urthblood expects. In fact, I suspect that Jaffox and his squad might well be spending so much time in the field assisting us Gawtrybe that you'll find little opportunity to butt heads with him."

"That'd suit me just fine," Jaffox said. "I'll take good honest direct action over parade drills an' fancy marches an' cooped-up fortress livin' any day. Tho' ... " He ran his pawtips over the polished surface of the Redwall-crafted conference table. "You do got lotsa fine stuff 'ere. Beast could get used to such luxury, surrounded by easy livin' all th' time ... "

"If you think our drills are frivolous, or that life at Foxguard has made us soft, you're welcome to join us for exercises outside tomorrow, and test your blades against ours. Now, that's my chair you happen to be sitting in. Please vacate it."

"Well, seein' as ye're now bein' polite about it, sayin' 'please' an' all ... " Jaffox rose and circled the table, coming around to stand face-to-face with Tolar - or, rather, snout-to-throat. The brutish Northlander was just as imposing as Tolar remembered, standing a full head taller than the fox Sword with muscular breadth to match - nearly a badger-sized fox, and one who could dominate any room or chamber of mixed creatures where he cared to place himself. Tolar couldn't know for sure just how long a leash Urthblood had granted Jaffox, but knowing what he did of the savage campaigner, he knew Jaffox's bad side was a dangerous place to be.

"Lemme know when you get serious about cooperatin' together, like we're s'posed t' be. Meantime, I'll be outside with my foxes, since I'm sure you'll want yer chambers back to yerself. Comfy bed, by th' way ... speakin' o' which, where will my brigade be sleepin', now that you've returned? Your head lackey implied we'd hafta surrender th' beds we took last night when you got back. That'd hardly be welcomin', would it?"

"My 'lackey' was quite correct. Foxguard was designed and built with us swordfoxes in mind, not to house an entire second brigade on top of our own. The Gawtrybe with us have mostly had to sleep out on our lawns; your forces will have to do the same."

"What about yer weasels? Doesn't seem right they should get to enjoy nice soft beds while th' squad o' yer new second-in-command gets put outdoors."

"Our weasel laborers work hard to earn their keep, especially these days with the work on the Realms. They're an established part of Foxguard's order."

"An' I'm not, is what ye're sayin'? Ah well. I hope ye'll at least be able t' find a bed fer _me_."

Tolar pursed his lips. "It just so happens we had a resignation earlier this season. You can have Mykola's old bed - I'm sure Haddican will be delighted to welcome you as his new roommate."

"What, no private chamber fer yer new top lieutenant?"

"My second-in-command Sappakit never had a chamber of his own; you should be able to get by just fine without one too. Mykola's bed will have to suffice."

"Hmm. Hope it's bigger'n yours. My footpaws were stickin' out over the edge."

"I'm sure you'll manage." Tolar's tone made it clear he was not interested in pursuing the conversation any further.

"Whatever you say. See you at dinner, Sword. Hope th' grub's good!" Jaffox turned and strode from the room. Custis lingered just inside the doorway, waiting a few moments until the big fox was well down the hall. Then he addressed Tolar.

"Just in case you have any ideas, Sword, you _will_ make Jaffox and his brigade at home here, and give him your full cooperation. My Gawtrybe and I have welcomed him as part of this campaign, and you are to do the same ... and if you don't, I'll make sure Lord Urthblood knows of it."

Tolar regarded Custis with a baleful glare. "I'm sure it was your first complaint against me that brought Jaffox down here in the first place."

"I'm sure it was."

"And what of your Gawtrybe? There seem to be a lot more of them here than when I left for Redwall. Did you recall them from the Gawdrey site for purposes of intimidation?"

"Those reserves aren't from Gawdrey. Another hundred squirrels came down from the North with Jaffox. Lord Urthblood is taking this operation quite seriously, even if you're not."

Tolar bristled. "Have I given you anything less than my full cooperation since we put that incident with the rats at Redwall behind us?"

"Yes, my promotion to captain did work wonders, didn't it? And you'll now show Jaffox the same consideration that you've been showing me. You may issue him orders, but he is not yours to order around - and I'd like to see you try. Oh, and nice touch, giving him Mykola's bed. 'Resignation' indeed. I'll make sure he learns the full story behind _that_ affair, if he doesn't know it already."

Tolar continued to glare at Custis. "I'm sure you will, Captain. Oh, and one other thing. Were you aware that a squad of your fellow Gawtrybe, under the direct command of Matowick himself, tricked their way into Redwall under diplomatic pretenses and violated their sovereignty by forcibly removing one of the most important rats seeking sanctuary there? And that a party of Abbey rescuers gave chase, resulting in a battle out on the Western Plains which resulted in the deaths of many of Lord Urthblood's gulls - including Captain Scarbatta himself - as well as numerous Guosim and Long Patrol? A battle which, I might add, should have been plainly visible to your squirrels up in the observation deck?"

Some of Custis's confidence seemed to ebb away. "Captain Scarbatta? No ... no, I was not aware."

"But you must have seen the dead being borne back to the Abbey ... "

"No. No, we didn't. They must have returned by night."

"Captain - did you know Lord Urthblood planned to do this?"

"No. Not ahead of time, no."

"Not ahead of time? But you did, once it was underway?"

"Captain Saugus came to my lookouts the night after the Redwallers began their pursuit. Told us only that Lord Urthblood had had Captain Matowick extract a vitally important rat prisoner from Redwall, and that we were to keep that information to ourselves and not intercede in any way."

"And you didn't think to inform me of any of this? Even when you knew I would be delivering the Realms to them and asking their help in distributing them? You didn't warn me I'd be walking into an Abbey still smarting and incensed over a recent battle with Lord Urthblood's forces? And YOU think to lecture ME about cooperation?"

Custis straightened. "They were Lord Urthblood's orders ... something I would strongly advise you to remember."

"There was a battle, Captain. Not a siege, not a cordon, not patrols and surveillance. Lives were lost. And I blindly stepped into the aftermath of an incident which has likely pushed Redwall to the brink of open war with Lord Urthblood."

"We can handle Redwall."

Tolar frostily regarded the squirrel. "And that attitude is precisely why we might lose Redwall altogether, if we haven't already."

"We all do what we have to do, Sword." Custis turned to go. "Are you coming, Lady?"

Mina shook him off. "Give me a moment with Tolar alone, if you please."

Custis considered, nodded, and withdrew. Mina came fully into the chamber, walking right up to Tolar. "So ... Jaffox."

"Yes. Jaffox."

"Whatever message Custis sent to Lord Urthblood that night, it must have struck a nerve. Jaffox, and a hundred more Gawtrybe too. He's not going to make this easy on you."

"But do you entirely disagree, Lady?"

"It's not my place to agree or disagree with Lord Urthblood's major troop deployments. That being said, nobeast deserves Jaffox."

"No. Not least of all Redwallers. It looks like my paws will be quite full here with what's just been dropped on me, but before I address any internal Foxguard matters, I must send word to the quarry warning the Abbess not to come here. With that monster stalking our grounds, I don't want her anywhere near this fortress ... and ideally, not even on the same side of the Moss as Jaffox."

"What of Mona? And Tibball?"

"Foxguard might be Jaffox's current detail, but it's Mona's home, and I'd like to see him or anybeast else keep her away from it. And if he thinks to try anything untoward with her, he might just find her slipping him something quite nasty."

"Tolar! For all his faults - and perhaps because of them - he has been assigned here by direct order of Lord Urthblood himself. You must tread very carefully here."

"I am bound by My Lord's orders, as a soldier of his forces; Mona is not. We both know what Jaffox is capable of, and I will not reprimand or restrain Mona from defending herself if the need arises, in whatever manner she sees fit. And as for Tibball, that rabbit will have to decide for himself what to do ... although I suspect once he hears us warning away the rat-slaying Abbess of Redwall and her two Long Patrol escorts, he'll think twice about accepting my offer of an Ambassadorship!"

 **THE QUARRY**

With the arrival of Vanessa and her companions deemed a festive event, all quarrying work was suspended for the rest of that day and evening. Montybank and Foremole led the recovered former Abbess on an extensive tour of the site, both the above-ground and subterranean areas, eager to show off and explain the encouraging progress they'd made in this grand endeavor. The underground portion of the tour also gave Kyslith an opportunity to point out to Mona and the others exactly where his needed ores lay within the caverns, eliciting relieved assurances from Foremole that the fox's work would not interfere with the larger Freetown efforts in the slightest.

"Burr hurr, oi'll even volunteer ee summ o' moi molers, to 'elp ee along, on top of ee lanturns 'n' chiselaxes you'm asked abowt afore."

Kyslith nodded his grateful appreciation at this offer. "Thanks, that would be a great help indeed, friend."

After the tour, with evening lying heavy over Mossflower as the first stars began to twinkle and glimmer in the sky high above, several large cookfires were lit, each drawing a crowd around it even though the almost-summer night held no hint of chill. The most sizable of these gatherings occurred, naturally, around the one where Vanessa sat, the quarry workers eager to hear more in-depth and firstpaw accounts of recent Abbey happenings than any Sparra messengers had been able to relate.

"So, what do you wager Urthblood was tryin' t' prove with that note 'ee sent, accusin' you of bein' his lackey?" Monty inquired as he licked the gravy of a hot mushroom and scallion pastie from his whiskers. "Didn't he realize how preposterous such a ruse was, an' how quickly we'd see through it?"

Vanessa glanced aside at Traveller. "For some of us, it wasn't seen through that quickly at all. In fact, if not for the seagull feather I extracted from Saugus's plumage, which gave lie to his entire story and made his tale of being attacked by crows fall apart in front of everybeast, the Long Patrol might still have me under arrest. Isn't that right, Field Marshal?"

The old hare wrinkled his snout. "In all pers'nal fairness to myself, marm, I wasn't quite as gung ho as the Colonel about that idea. We threw some bally words back 'n' forth 'tween us down in the tunnels 'fore we committed to that course, an' I voiced the very worry that the owl's message might be a lie, meant to cause the kind of thing it very nearly did. But there was enuff supportin' evidence it might be true, as Clewy laid out an' presented at that tribunal, an' he convinced me it was better to err on the side o' caution - remove you from authority first, then get it sorted out later if it turned out we were wrong. As it was, no harm done, wot?"

"An' what of that feathered scallywag?" asked Monty. "What'd ye do with Saugus?"

"He's still up in the Infirmary," Vanessa replied, "mending his wing and plumage until he's recovered enough to fly again. Hopefully he'll have already departed by the time I return to the Abbey. If not, I'll be sorely tempted to use one of the work boots I promised Lekkas on that deceitful avian's feathery backside. But either way, the boot is exactly what he's going to get."

"But I don't understand," the otter Skipper went on, "why you didn't just stay on as Abbess, Nessa? What with Urthblood's accusations disproved an' all."

"As I've explained at length to our Long Patrol friends and others, that false message had already done its damage, sowing too much doubt and raising too many lingering questions for me to remain fully effective in my leadership role. Much better to return Geoff to the Abbot's chair so that a respected mouse untainted by suspicion and untarnished by rumor can again preside as Redwall's leader. My healer's skills will be of greater value to the Abbey now than my prior stewardship as Abbess. Besides, if Martin truly is acting through me somehow - as seems likely, between the way I can know of future and far-off events as well as how he guided my paw against those rats in the Infirmary - then he'll still have a way of making his will and wishes known no matter what post I hold, won't he?"

"Hmm. It's his will 'n' wishes that's got ev'rybeast all confused these days, seems t' me. Goin' to all that trouble to bring Lattie to Redwall, then turnin' 'round an' lettin' Urthblood have 'er. Kinda contradictory, wouldn't y' say?"

"Without Latura, I never would have returned to my senses. Without her, we might never have known how deep the spiritual conflict between Martin and Urthblood ran. She had to come to Redwall, for those reasons if no other. But she could not stay. Even if her own wild talents did not represent a direct threat to the Abbey themselves, Urthblood wanted her too badly to let us keep her, and would have resorted to open war with Redwall to gain her - a war we could not have won. Martin was not about to expose his cherished home to that kind of danger, so he chose the lesser of two bad choices, and let Matowick take Latura. I went over all of this in detail at our council, and several times again since then, but I suspect these explanations will never fully satisfy everybeast."

"Oi c'n see whoi," said Foremole. "Doan't seem roight. Uz H'Abbeybeasts coulda done better boi Mizz LattieRatty, burr hurr."

"Maybe it's not right," Vanessa conceded. "But it's the way things are, and the way things have to be. Martin has been most clear about that."

"Yore shore about that?" Monty probed. "That's really what Martin wanted? No chance of misunderstandin'?"

The mouse looked to her old otter friend with a gaze of steely assurance rather uncharacteristic of Vanessa. "Yes, Monty. On that, at least, I am quite sure."

Traveller seemed about to make some comment, then apparently thought better of it.

"Well, you were th' one who was there, an' the one who's been talkin' to our founding Warrior," Montybank continued, "so I guess I'll hafta trust in you knowin' best on this score. Still 'n' all, seems strange you'd pick now of all times t' go runnin' off to Foxguard, when there's so much goin' on at the Abbey."

"Not strange at all. In everything that's happened between us and Urthblood this season, Tolar and his foxes have done nothing to indicate their friendship with us is anything less than we have enjoyed in the past. And it may be precisely 'now of all times,' with the Gawtrybe occupying Foxguard and pressuring Tolar to toe the line in all Urthblood wills, that I must go there to exert a little pressure of my own, flex my diplomatic muscles and remind our fox friends that we bear them no malice in any of this and would continue to cherish them as friends and allies - and also remind him what stands to be lost if that friendship should be spurned. It might not be easy, give Captain Custis's overbearing presence there, but I feel I should at least try."

"Aye, it's those squirrels 'overbearin' presence' what worries me, Nessa. Goin' t' Tolar an' speakin' ill of Urthblood, an' mebbe even tryin' to talk him inta disregardin' that badger's orders, right under Custis's nose - y' shore that's a wise thing t' do?"

"Tolar has already heard me and plenty of other Redwallers speak very ill of Urthblood in recent days, so he knows where we stand with _that._ My approach at Foxguard will be more tactful, more positive, playing up the benefits of good relations with Redwall ... and surely not even Custis could object to that, could he?"

"As you say, marm," Traveller weighed in at last. "Not like any of your plan could go astray or amiss, is it?"

The Long Patrol hare's grumbled reference to Latura's failure to bring down the Badger Lord - the jibe's true meaning lost on the others - earned a caustic glance from Vanessa before she went on. "Anyway, I feel I have to at least try. And if I am rebuffed, either by Tolar, by Custis, or by both together, then I'll return to Redwall with the situation no worse than it was already. I have no fear for my safety, no matter how things go, since not even Custis would dare to act against an Abbess of Redwall - aside from perhaps escorting me out under Gawtrybe arms if he takes great offense at any of my more direct points. With two of the stalwart Long Patrol at my side, not to mention Tibball whom Tolar must entice into staying on as his proposed Ambassador to wider Mossflower, I suspect everybeast at Foxguard will be on its best behavior for us."

"Speakin' of Foxguard's crew, kinda odd how our two guests ain't out here with us." Monty cast a glance toward the cave entrance, barely visible in the dancing light cast by the outdoor campfires. "Must be real eager t' get started on their work, optin' to be in there chiselin' 'n' chippin' away by lantern light 'stead of enjoyin' our company an' relaxin' with a leisurely supper. Wonder what's got 'em so fired up about gettin' started on their labors right away, after a full day o' travellin'?"

"Oi b'ain't aboot to go figgeren out foxers, no zurr," said Foremole. "Odd 'n' crafty h'animals, even ee simplerst of 'em, an' Mizzus Mona be moighty odd even boi foxer standards, boi okey."

Monty straightened in sudden alarm. "Hey! You don't s'pose they're scroungin' up the ingredients t' make some o' Tratton's stormpowder, do ye? Mebbe enuff t' collapse our underground work area, an' sabotage our efforts here?"

Traveller regarded the otter Skipper with shared concern. "But what would Tolar or Foxguard have 'gainst us tryin' t' build Freetown?"

"Mebbe they don't wanna see anything that'd strengthen Redwall. Mebbe they're offended we reopened 'their' quarry they used to build Foxguard, or p'raps they simply don't want us on their side of the river, an' seek t' drive us back to the Abbey. If they were really thinkin' treacherously, mebbe they'd try 'n' rig it so it'd bring down the ceiling on my head an' Foremole's too while we were both in there, robbin' Redwall of two of its leaders in one fell swoop!"

"What a terrible thing to believe our fox friends capable of!" Vanessa declared with obviously feigned shock. "And after I just got finished saying how I hope to win over Tolar and make sure he stays on good terms with Redwall! Tsk tsk tsk!"

Traveller looked to her. "But you hafta jolly well admit such underpawed schemin's a bloomin' possibility from their sort, don't you?"

"No. In this particular case, I concede no such thing, Field Marshal."

"An' why's that, marm?" Traveller prompted, not certain how far he should press the point in front of others.

"Because the primary ingredients of stormpowder are brimstone, saltpeter and charcoal. I'm not sure what Mona and Kyslith are fishing for here, but I detected no quantities of any of those substances in those caverns."

Everybeast else stared at her in silence for long moments. "How'd you know that, Nessa?" Monty finally ventured. "About what goes inta makin' stormpowder?"

"You'd be surprised what I've picked up along the way. But I see no danger here along the lines you suggest, and that should be good enough to satisfy all of you and set your minds at ease, at least on that score."

Before any of them could pursue this line of questioning, a distant call drifted down to them from the sentry shrews on duty up along the top of the quarry pit.

"Fox! We got a fox comin' down!"

The Abbey leaders looked to each other in surprise. "Wonder wot this's all about, wot?" Traveller voiced for all of them.

"Yes, odd to be seeing such a visitor at this hour," said Vanessa. "Tolar can't have been back at Foxguard very long. Either he sent one of his travel company back our way before reaching his fortress, or else he dispatched this messenger at once upon his arrival. I can't imagine what it might portend."

They rose from their seats around the fire and ambled across the quarry floor to the foot of the ramp. There they beheld a single black-clad swordfox descending out of the darkness above, escorted by two of the Guosim. The vulpine's taciturn look and manner bespoke a seriousness of purpose which hardly inspired encouragement on the part of the Abbeybeasts.

Montybank, as the seniormost Redwaller on the scene permanently assigned to the quarry expedition, hailed the lone fox. "Ahoy there, matey, an' welcome! What brings you here this late?"

The newcomer halted just above them on the ramp. "I bear tidings from Sword Tolar. There has been a change of circumstances at Foxguard. Tolar sends his regrets, but he will no longer be able to receive the Abbess or any other visitors at this time."

Vanessa stepped forward. "Sappakit, isn't it?"

"Yes, Abbess. I'm surprised you recognize or remember me."

"What I remember might well surprise you. Tolar always spoke of you as his second-in-command. If he saw fit to dispatch you here with such speed, I can only assume the situation is urgent. What did he discover waiting for him at Foxguard upon his return which has changed things so?"

Sappakit regarded the mouse, clearly taken off guard by the astuteness of her deductions. "Not necessarily urgent, Abbess. Sword Tolar simply felt you should be appraised of this change at the earliest possible moment, for courtesy's sake. He was uncertain of your travel plans, and did not wish to wait until morning to send somebeast, in case you had already left for Foxguard by that time."

"If your Sword is so worried about courtesy's sake, then he should also have instructed you to provide an explanation for such an abrupt rebuff which will so drastically alter my intended itinerary."

"It is an internal matter, Abbess. No need to go into it here."

"Well, that's hardly forthcoming, is it? Or particularly polite. Tell me at least this much, then: Does Tolar now consider it unsafe for me to go to Foxguard?"

"He ... Abbess, where is Mona? I would feel more comfortable sharing this with her. She will understand, and see the wisdom of this decision."

"Hmm. Not the answer I was looking for, but very well. Will somebeast please go summon Mona from the caves? I'm sure she can tear herself away from her rocks - and from Kyslith - for this."

A Guosim runner was dispatched to collect the vixen, leaving swordfox and Redwallers standing facing each other in a protracted, awkward silence. "Beautiful night, ain't it?" Monty said at last, just to fill the pregnant quiet.

"Yes, thank the fates," Sappakit agreed. "I would have hated to make that run in the rain."

"Sounds like you could've used a hare," Traveller jibed, and not entirely good-naturedly.

"Not at night," Sappakit returned primly. "Foxes do much better in the dark. We might not be as fast, but the time we save not tripping over or running into things makes up for it."

"Speaking of speedy messengerbeasts," Vanessa interjected before the veteran hare could take umbrage over the insinuation of nocturnal clumsiness on his species' part, "what of Tibball? Is he still welcome at Foxguard, or is he to be spurned and return with us to Redwall as well?"

Tibball, who'd been hovering back behind the others up to this point, stepped forward, whiskers twitching. "Yes, yes, what of me? If Sword Tolar deems it too dangerous for the Abbess and her armed escorts to visit Foxguard at this time, then surely such perils must preclude me as well?"

Sappakit regarded the rabbit. "I did not say it was dangerous, just ... complicated. Our Sword asked me to impress upon you that his offer of an Ambassadorship still stands, and he would encourage you to return to Foxguard with me and Mona to judge the situation there for yourself. If you find it not to your liking, then you'll be free to return to the quarry here for the next crossing back to Redwall, or to resume your previous woodlander's existence on this side of the Moss. You will not be forced or pressured into anything you may find uncomfortable."

"Then he still has another day or two to decide, since Mona has indicated her labors here with Kyslith will take that long." Vanessa turned to see the vixen in question emerging from the firelit night toward them. "Ah, here she is now, so maybe some light will be shed on this mystery."

Mona stopped alongside the others, glancing about her in puzzlement before looking up at Sappakit. "I'm told you bring news from Foxguard?"

"I do. Tolar has decreed he can accept no visitors at this time, and sent me to inform the Abbess and her party at once, so that they might adjust their travel plans accordingly."

"Well, that is clearly not acceptable, and reflects poor hospitality on our part toward our Abbey friends. What reason did he give for this change of heart, since he seemed most welcoming of our guests when last we saw him?"

Sappakit motioned for Mona to approach him, so she stepped up onto the ramp and did so. Leaning in close to her ear, he lowly spoke no more than half a dozen words to her, but those few words seemed to sway her. Mona turned back to face the woodlanders, her demeanor suddenly very different. "I'm afraid he's right, Abbess. You must not come to Foxguard at this time."

"And why is that, Mona?"

"Unforeseen circumstances have arisen. Receiving such guests as yourselves would not be appropriate under such conditions. I'm sorry, as I'm sure Tolar is as well, but this is how it must be."

Sensing she'd extract no more satisfying elucidation from the vixen than from Sappakit, Vanessa shrugged. "Very well. It's your fortress, so you get to decide who enters and who doesn't ... just as we do at Redwall."

Mona silently digested this implication that she and her fellow foxes might not find the Abbey gates opening for them on their next visit ... if there was to be a next visit. "Yes, I think that is likely for the best, Abbess."

"Well, let us get you settled in, good Sappakit, since it appears you'll be dwelling with us for the next day or two - just how long, you will need to work out with Mona here. Or do you think you'll be returning to Foxguard before then, ahead of Mona and Kyslith?"

"Sword Tolar requested I remain here until they are ready to leave, and then escort them back to the fortress."

"Very good. I'm sure a spare bedroll can be found for you, and if not, you can sleep on the grass up above with all our snoring shrew friends. We've plenty of food and drink to spare, so that's not an issue either. Welcome to our humble little quarrying site, and may your stay with us be a pleasant one!"

"More of a welcome than any 'ee's givin' us," Monty grumbled to Vanessa as the two foxes passed out of earshot. "That swordswinger's brought Madam Brushtail in on 'is liddle secret, an' right in front of us, too, leaving us none th' wiser!"

Vanessa gave no sign of being perturbed by the foxes' implicit exclusion. "Well, Monty, we all have our secrets, don't we?"

"Maybe theirs isn't as secret as they think," Traveller confided to his fellow Abbey leaders. "An' maybe they forget how much these long hare ears of ours can catch, even old ones like mine. Our bally blackclad visitor tonight might've kept his voice down when he spoke to Mona, but not quite low 'nuff, wot?"

Montybank looked to Traveller in surprise. "You heard what 'ee said to 'er, matey?"

"More or less. Though it rings only th' faintest of bells with me, maybe it'll ring clearer to some of you. Does the name 'Jaffox' mean anything to anybeast here?"


	7. Chapter VI

**VI.**

 **FOXGUARD**

"Coulda used a few more cells down here, seems t' me."

Custis, striding alongside Jaffox as the two of them reviewed the crowded, barred chambers, nodded his agreement. "As Sword Tolar is so fond of pointing out, Foxguard is a fortress, not a jail. Its dungeons were never designed to hold more than a modest number of detainees. Guess Lord Urthblood always just assumed his swordfoxes wouldn't leave many foebeasts alive in any battle that found them."

Jaffox let slip an evil grin that chilled many of the rodent prisoners staring out from behind their bars. "Now _that's_ the kind of thinkin' I'm all in with!"

Foxguard's holding cells, taking up nearly half the stronghold's lower level, had never seen use before the arrival of the Gawtrybe, a seeming afterthought for contingencies as yet unrealized. But the Purge - a term, Custis had come to learn, which Jaffox had no issue with, and freely used himself - had changed all that, and now the victims of the Badger Lord's resettlement campaign packed these dungeons.

Dozens of rats - family beasts and ruffians all mixed together - stood, sat and lay in their confined misery, the latest to be caught up in the Gawtrybe sweeps. Indignant anger simmered here, to be sure, but fear and confusion outweighed the suppressed rage, and most of the faces staring back at the fox and squirrel showed the same dazed, uncertain disbelief Captain Ramjohn had seen earlier that season displayed by the first batch of rats being delivered to Salamandastron.

Of course, this was the first time any of them had set eyes on Jaffox. The silent and deadly squirrel assassins who cut down rat resistors without mercy were bad enough, but now this gloating, menacing fox barbarian only added the worst elements of nightmare to their plight.

"We'll be moving them out of here today," Custis went on. "Got another bunch coming in from the east, a score at least, so we'll need to make room. Perhaps you could spare some of your foxes to help us escort them across the river and get them to Choock's shrews for passage to the coastlands? Tolar has made it quite clear he and his brigade consider such necessary duties beneath them."

"Tolar, playin th' high 'n' mighty card? Who'da thunk that?" Jaffox's voice dripped acrimonious sarcasm.

"Yes, well, at least that horde in the valley to our northeast did us some favor in this regard, gathering together so many of the rats from this part of Mossflower that it's left far fewer for us to sweep up ... and far fewer to spread the word to other parts of this region."

"Yah - except that alla _their_ rats made it t' Redwall."

"Hrmph."

"Been meanin' t' speak to you more about that horde, Cap'n, so as to that an' yer request as well, let's discuss it further upstairs, in th' comfort of our grand Sword host's office, why don't we?"

As the two of them left the imprisoned rats behind and climbed the four flights of stairs to Foxguard's uppermost level, the Gawtrybe captain remarked, "I'm surprised Tolar doesn't have you drilling out on the practice grounds along with his own foxes. He's usually a stickler for such things."

"Seems he's just as glad when he's got as little t' do with me 'n' mine as he can - th' less, th' better. Works fer me ... an' it means we can use his chambers while he's out playin' toy soldier."

A short time later up in the Sword's office, Custis and Jaffox stood looking over Foxguard's main tactical map of the nearer region, spread out on the table before them. Studying the topography, the big fox mused, "Seems a shame, this tower bein' built right on th' river like it is, an' you not makin' better use of th' waterways."

"We've talked about building passenger rafts to bear the prisoners directly down the Moss from here to the sea ... "

"So why ain'tcher done it?"

"All of our timber-working supplies and half our labor are tied up with the construction of Gawdrey."

"Not half. Not anymore. I just brought you another hunnerd, 'member? That should give us quite a few extra paws t' use fer such things."

Custis looked at Jaffox. "I thought those Gawtrybe reinforcements were sent to help us with our sweeps."

"'Sweep' is a pretty broad term, ain't it? Gathering up all this riffraff's only half th' job; we still gotta move 'em along after that. An' even if we set t' building us a whole fleet o' rafts right this moment, that won't help us with the overflow we already got, or those other prisoners who'll be gettin' here any day now." Jaffox returned his attention to the map. "An' with the dinky liddle ferry service y' got here, just crossin' that lot you've got downstairs now'll be a chore an' a half, takin' sev'ral trips. Pretty inefficient, even by my own loose standards. I can think of a whole lotta better ways I'd rather spend my day." He stabbed a paw at the riverbank nearest the quarry. "What about all those barges I hear are gathered here? They'd suit our purposes perfectly."

Custis was clearly taken aback by this suggestion. "Those are the Redwallers' rafts, for their quarrying work."

"But you Gawtrybe built 'em."

"With the help of the Guosim shrews."

"Our need's greater'n theirs. Let them Abbeyfolk build new barges fer shippin' their stone back to Redwall. I'm commandeerin' 'em to get our prisoners sailed down th' Moss to Salamandastron."

"I'm ... not sure that's an entirely wise thing to do."

"Lord Urthblood sent me here to get results, and these are the kind of results he's expectin' of me."

"The Redwallers won't allow you to take their rafts."

"I don't plan on askin'. Yer latest reports from the lookout tower are that they're still workin' the quarry, an' ain't even got any stone moved outta that pit yet ... an' that there's no guards posted on those craft either. Long as that's the case, they're ours fer the takin' - so take 'em I will."

Custis sighed. "Tensions with the Redwallers are high enough as it is. This is only likely to inflame the situation further."

"Duly noted. I'll be moving the prisoners out at dusk, so we can get to those rafts after nightfall, an' get 'em loaded an' pushed off under cover o' dark, while nobeast's lookin', or likely to interfere."

"Mmhmm. And just who'll be piloting those barges between here and the sea? Or were you planning to let the detainees steer and paddle themselves right into the searats' paws?"

"Well, ye're the one who just said you'd been givin' this some thought too. How did _you_ have in mind t' get it done?"

"In my conversations with Tolar, we agreed such an operation would entail recalling Captain Choock's shrews from the Plains and reassigning them to ferry duty. But, that has not been done yet, because we were still mulling it over. Hence, there are no shrews at Foxguard now, and no way we'll be able to get any here by nightfall, or even tomorrow."

This answer clearly didn't satisfy Jaffox. "Lemme ask this, then: How d'you get Foxguard's ferry back 'n' forth cross't th' river when need be?"

"Sometimes our weasel laborers do the punting and rowing, and sometimes Tolar assigns junior foxes of his brigade to perform the task."

"Well there y' go. Gimme some o' those lazy loafin' layabout weasels, an' we'll have them guide the prisoner rafts to th' sea. Problem solved."

Custis gave a sour look. "While I generally agree with your assessment of their character, currently they're being kept quite busy with the minting of the Realms, and Tolar will be loathe to spare any from that duty."

"The Realms? You mean those ugly liddle trinkets not even the Redwallers would accept, forcin' Tolar to carry back most of th' sackfuls they took with 'em? We got more o' those made already than we can give away. Hardly a priority when we got burstin' cells downstairs right now with more rats on th' way. I'll pull whatever weasels I need off that pointless project an' put 'em to some real use."

"Just one problem with that. Technically, and by Lord Urthblood's official decree, you're still only second-in-command at Foxguard. You can't supersede Tolar in this - and he holds relations with Redwall as far more important than perhaps he should. He'd never agree with what you're proposing."

"Then _you_ reassign the weasels I need to me. This Purge is under your direct command here in Mossflower, an' you've got the authority to reallocate whatever resources you need t' get it done - over an' above our too-full-of-himself Sword."

"I ... let me think about this. There's still time to consider all the ramifications before you would have to leave this evening. But I should point out that weasels are not nearly as sure or experienced riverbeasts as shrews. If they hit any rough waters or challenging stretches along the Moss on their way to the coast, we could lose both them and their prisoners."

"Then we'd hafta get ourselves some new weasels, wouldn't we? Th' rats don't matter, goes without sayin'."

"Unless some escape such a mishap, forcing us to locate and capture them all over again. That's extra work we don't need."

Jaffox displayed another wicked grin. "Then I'll just hafta make sure they're tied up good 'n' tight, so they won't be doin' any swimming if their rafts do capsize or wreck."

Custis heaved a labored sigh. "With all your foxes here and another hundred Gawtrybe besides, I suppose those weasels can be spared. Tolar won't like it, though. And what of the next batch we've got coming in? Commandeer more of the Redwallers' rafts, and reassign more weasels to them?"

"Naw. If that's a small bunch like you say, we'll send 'em across here t' Choock's shrews, like you were gonna do with this current lot. But that'll hafta be the last group we send off that way. After that, I _will_ want ferry shrews pulled back here, an' more barges built fer all future transfers. We'll have a lot more t' send off once I get rollin', an' it's too slow movin' 'em out by any other way than the river."

Jaffox moved his paw northward on the map. "Now let's talk about this so-called horde here. What's been done about 'em?"

"We've been ignoring them. They don't pose any threat, and aside from being the source of the rats at Redwall, they don't concern us at all."

"You've not reached out to 'em? Tried to initiate any contact at all?"

"No, why? We're quite busy enough with what we've got on our paws already, and as long as they don't get in our way ... "

"They need t' be brought in."

"Brought in? This isn't the Northlands, Jaffox. We've got an entirely different campaign to concern ourselves with here. We'll be quite occupied without worrying about anything like _that_."

"That's yer problem, Cap'n: You see 'em as a complication, an obstacle t' be avoided. I see 'em as potential recruits - a resource to be tapped. It's allers been Lord Urthblood's standin' edict that all vermin, brigands an' hordebeasts swear loyalty to him, or be slain. An' I'm th' one to lay down that choice to 'em. In fact, once I get our rats sent off t'night, targetin' that valley horde's my very next order o' business."

"You really think you can get them to join our Pur- ... our campaign?"

"Easiest recruitment you could ask for. We got force of arms to intimidate 'em inta submission, plus they recently lost a big chunk o' their forces. A chunk that'll serve us doubly well, since that miserable bunch can't be happy about all their rat comrades defectin' like they did, and might just be lookin' fer some payback on that score, if presented with the opportunity. Well, that's an opportunity I plan on givin' 'em. The velvet gauntlet, or th' spiked mace. I'll make 'em see what's best for 'em, see to it they make the right choice - just like I have so many times up North."

"I admire your confidence. You pull this off, and it'll be the first thing about this whole campaign that's gone right so far."

"I'll need backup. Even a horde in disarray's still a horde. Me 'n' my foxes storm in there alone, they'll see it as just another would-be warlord tryin' to take 'em over fer his own."

Custis let the suggestion of a sardonic grin play across his face. "Are you sure that's not what it would be?"

Jaffox returned the half-grin with unabashed enthusiasm. "Wouldn't turn down a local regiment of my own. Maybe they'll already have somebeast in charge there who'll be smart enuff to recognize the inevitable an' not put up a fight; mebbe, if he impresses me enuff, I'll even let 'im stay in charge of that rabble, long as he answers to me."

"And me," Custis reminded the fox. "And to Tolar too, for that matter. No new field officer, no matter how capable, can be placed above the authority of longstanding captains and commanders."

"I'll make sure he knows that."

"And if they don't accept your terms?"

"You know th' drill - same as th' Northlands. Start at th' top, an' chop our way down 'til we get to somebeast who'll see reason. However many heads it takes."

"You sound determined to go ahead with this, so be my guest. Tolar will be glad to have you out of Foxguard for however many days it takes you to get this done. For that matter, it might be best if you're already gone before he finds out you commandeered the Abbeybeasts' rafts. He'll not be a happy Sword when he gets hit with _that_ news."

"You handle our good Sword, an' I'll handle th' horde. If he has any problem with any o' this, he 'n' his brigade'll find themselves facin' twice the army they are now!"

00000000000

That evening, Jaffox and half his squad led their bound rat captives out of Foxguard, accompanied by enough ferry weasels he deemed sufficient for his purposes. With most of Tolar's brigade indoors taking dinner or relaxing in their bunks after a hard day's drilling and fortress chores - and with the Gawtrybe standing all the walltop watches - no fox under the Sword's longtime command noticed that Jaffox led his prisoners north into the woods instead of directly out to the canal for the expected crossing on the stronghold's own modest ferry, as had been done with the previous detainees passing through Foxguard.

Tolar did indeed have Haddican and a few of his other most trusted senior foxes keeping a close eye on the newly-arrived ruffians from the North - while they were within the walled premises. Thus was it duly observed and noted when Jaffox escorted the rats outside for their presumed crossing of the Moss at this point - and thus was it also noted and reported when Jaffox failed to reappear in any kind of timely manner, and the junior foxes sent outside to investigate found the Foxguard ferry tied up in its usual spot, with no sign of foxes, weasels or rats anywhere.

Tolar, appraised of this mystery, sought out Custis on the nighttime walltop, where he found the Gawtrybe captain relaxing with Lady Mina, the two squirrels enjoying the clear, starry sky.

"Where's Jaffox, Captain?"

"And a fine evening to you too, Sword," Mina cut in before Custis could reply to the brusque interrogatory.

Tolar nodded her way. "Lady. I mean no slight, but the Captain and I have a matter to discuss, and that is uppermost on my mind."

"Then don't let me stop you." Mina took a demure stance of bystanderness, but made no move to leave the two of them alone.

"To answer your question, Sword," said Custis, "Jaffox took the rats out to make room for the new ones that are on their way."

"At this hour?"

"Foxes have good night vision ... but then, I need hardly tell _you_ that, need I?"

Mina, looking on, snerked at this in spite of herself.

Tolar ignored her display. "What do you mean, he took them out? The ferry has not been used tonight."

"He had ... other plans for them."

"Other plans? He's not ... he's going to massacre them, isn't he?"

"Not that I am aware of. He spoke of using another transfer point which would not entail crossing here. He does not intend to slaughter them, Sword, of that I am fairly certain, so settle your mind on that score. He might well be capable of such an atrocity, but he would never leave so many bodies lying around to be found, and I don't see him and his foxes taking pains to bury them all either. Those rats are as safe in his paws as they would be in yours or mine, or nearly so."

"Why does your assertion not reassure me? And what other transfer point did he have in mind?"

"Much happens outside these walls that you might not be aware of, Sword. Much that Lord Urthblood had his paw in."

Tolar looked to Mina. "Were you aware of any of this, Lady?"

"Me? How could I be? I spent most of this afternoon up on the observation deck, taking in the sights of wider Mossflower. Anybeast who visits Foxguard and fails to take frequent advantage of that wondrous panorama is a fool. And your foxes stationed up there were most polite and helpful ... even if we Gawtrybe could easily manage such duties ourselves."

"In light of all I learned at Redwall, Lady, there will henceforth always be foxes standing high watch along with the Gawtrybe - and I don't mean Jaffox's brutes either. The Captain here speaks of much escaping my notice outside these walls, but maybe such would not be the case if I hadn't allowed him and his squirrels to completely take over the watches - an oversight I've now rectified."

Custis gave a shrug. "As you wish, Sword. It's your fortress, after all."

"These days I wonder about that sometimes. Just how much did you know of Matowick's mission to Redwall, and the battle in the Plains which took place afterwards, all while you were keeping me in the dark about it?"

"Before the fact? Nothing, as I've already told you. Nothing at all. Lord Urthblood did not deem it necessary to notify or consult with me about the planning of any of that. Even now, I mostly know the details of all that happened due to you and Lady Mina."

"But at the time? While you were observing the actual battle, and never thought to alert me?"

Custis gaze Tolar a caustic gaze. "Just like you never thought to tell me about nearly two hundred rats clearly making for the quarry, and thence crossing the river to escape to Redwall?"

Tolar snorted in exasperation. "In any case, Jaffox is officially still subject to my orders, and as such he should never have taken out the prisoners without my leave. That's borderline insubordination."

"Then perhaps you should spend less time ignoring and ostracizing him, and try cooperating and coordinating with him as you were meant to. Pretending he's not here isn't going to make him go away."

"You two seem to be getting along just fine. Why don't you take him to Gawdrey with you when you leave?"

"He was assigned to Foxguard, not Gawdrey. But you raise the point that I _will_ be leaving, sooner or later. Then Jaffox will be all yours, so I suggest you start trying to learn how to get along with him now."

Tolar scowled. "He's not fit company for civilized beasts!"

"Perhaps not - but he's very good at what he does. Lord Urthblood didn't call him down here for afternoon teatimes over crumpets and scones. But, given your feelings on the matter, I can share with you at least one development you should find encouraging."

"Oh?"

"We spent some time today discussing the valley horde to the northeast. Jaffox intends to recruit them for our campaign. And that's an effort which will take him some good number of days ... and maybe a number more after that, if he stays out in the field to oversee them. That will keep him out of your fur for a respectable period, so you can give thanks for that much at least."

"Mm hmm. And when this horde of his is all tamed and finished helping him with his dirty work, I assume he'll be bringing them all back to Foxguard with him?"

"Well, they certainly won't fit in at Gawdrey. And if they've sworn their loyalty to Lord Urthblood and proven their worth in the field, then they'll be as free to come and go here as any other troops in this army."

"Except that Lord Urthblood won't be on the scene to properly vet them - and I hardly trust Jaffox in either his judgment or his methods where such vital interests are concerned."

Then perhaps we should summon His Lordship here to address your concerns."

"Perhaps we should."

"Then prepare the message you see fit to flash to Salamandastron by signal mirror, or to be delivered by bird if you prefer. You say Saugus is recuperating at Redwall after that bizarre affair with that message for Lady Mina. Perhaps he'll fly here first after his recovery, and you can send it with him."

"Then again, it may be academic," Tolar said, seemingly reversing himself. "If Jaffox has been granted the latitude to operate so freely, I will exercise similar latitude in my own decisions where this fortress is concerned. And if I deem these hordebeasts Jaffox thinks to 'bring in' to pose any manner of threat to Foxguard, they will not be allowed inside our walls."

"A threat to Foxguard, Sword - or to your personal authority here?"

Tolar glared at Custis. "You would not like to see Foxguard without my authority. Good evening to you, Captain. Lady." The Sword turned and strode defiantly from the two squirrels, rounding the walltop and descending to the enclosed grounds.

Mina looked to Custis. "You really shouldn't seek to goad him quite so much, Captain. He is the top commander here, after all, and with the arrival of Jaffox, his position is hardly an enviable or easy one."

Custis smiled in satisfaction. "He made the bed he lies in now. I have no sympathy for him as far as that goes. And a little goading can be useful sometimes - especially in ending a conversation you don't wish to continue."

Or in sending Tolar away in a huff before he could press the point of just where Jaffox had taken the rat prisoners, the Gawtrybe captain silently added to himself.


	8. Chapter VII

**VII.**

 **THE QUARRY**

"We've collected all we need. We're ready to go now."

Vanessa eyed the two bulging backpacks the weasel laborers had set down on the ground before her as Mona and Kyslith looked on in satisfaction. Lifting one flap on the as-yet unfastened knapsacks and peering within at the collection of irregular chunks, the former Abbess drolly stated, "Don't you mean, you've collected all you'll be able to bear back to Foxguard with you?"

"It should suit my immediate needs quite adequately," Kyslith responded, picking up from Mona. "Enough for the rest of this season, and perhaps well into next."

The three foxes - Mona, Kyslith and Sappakit - stood along with the two weasels in the heart of the quarry pit under the strong midmorning sun. Monty and the two Long Patrol hares joined Vanessa in this casual inspection of the glassmaker's mining prizes.

"Not much to look at, is it?" Traveller judged, leaning in over Vanessa's shoulder. "Two bags of blinkin' rocks, hacked from th' cavern walls with no particular skill or craft."

"It's just raw ore," Kyslith reminded the hare. "I'll be refining what I need out of it once we're back at Foxguard."

Monty hooked a paw through the straps of the unopened pack and gave it a test hoist. "Ooph! That's some heavy ballast there! T'would be chore 'nuff for one of us riverdogs to bear that all th' way back to yore tower. Are y' shore yore weasel hearties're up for it?"

"They're used to hard work," Sappakit assured the Redwall otter. "And we're on no set schedule, so we can arrive at the fortress in our own good time. So if we need to stop for frequent rest breaks, we will."

"Even so ... " Monty set down the pack and reached into the open one to pluck up a chunk lying on top. "Purty dull, compared to th' nice red sandstone Foremole's excavatin' ... "

"Be careful!" Kyslith warned, reaching out to push the otter Skipper's paw back down into the pack. "Even in its unrefined state, this material can be hazardous, and shouldn't be handled without the protection of work gloves."

Monty let go of the rock without further bidding, regarding the pack contents with new suspicion. "Oh, that's just wonderful, matey. What're ye gonna use this for again?"

"The substances contained within this ore, in concentrated solution, are ideal for etching and shaping glass. They're also quite dangerous in liquid form, which is why Master Trelayne and I have always needed to take such precautions while working with it as heavy gloves, goggles to protect against any inadvertent backsplash, and muzzle masks for the fumes. The best protection, of course, is to treat it with utmost respect, and carry out all work slowly, warily and with close scrutiny to every detail of the process - a habit I fully intend to continue practicing even without Trelayne at my side."

As if these words were a dare, Vanessa reached down herself to take up the very same rock chunk Monty had just released. "Sounds like very potent stuff."

Again, Kyslith reached out to urge her to put down the harmful material, but Vanessa dodged his concerned gesture. "Abbess, what are you ... ?"

"Minerals of such curious and dreadful properties warrant further study, I would think - especially since our moles and otters are working down there right alongside them."

"Moles would know not to go messing about with it, and stay clear."

"Well that's a relief. Still, it might behoove us to take some samples back to Redwall with us for examination, and so that any non-moles among us know what to steer clear of." She regarded the rock in her grasp. "Hmm - I do believe my paw is beginning to tingle and sting a bit, even after such brief contact. Here, you can have it back." Vanessa rolled the chunk back atop its pile within the open pack.

Kyslith continued to fret over the mouse's impetuous actions. "Abbess, you'd best flush your paws with clean water promptly, to counteract any effects of handling the ore without the proper protection. Especially since your paws are unfurred."

"Yes, I'll go tend to that at once. We had no idea you regularly dealt with such perilous substances, or that they were to be found right here in our very own quarry. Whatever you're planning to do with it at Foxguard, I would urge you to exercise the utmost care and wisdom in your efforts - or, better yet, determine some way to dispense with this treacherous solution altogether, and devise some alternative method to achieve the results you desire."

Most of the creatures present - and not least of all Mona herself - realized that by the time Vanessa had finished speaking, her intent gaze lay not on Kyslith but on the healer vixen standing at his side. Mona shook off the unnerving stare and quickly diverted her own gaze.

A short time later, as Vanessa stood flushing her paws with water ladled from one of the quarry's drinking barrels, Tibball approached the former Abbess. "So, um, it appeared they're leaving."

"So it appears."

"Which means I have to decide now whether I'm going with them."

"That would be the obvious conclusion, yes."

"So, uh, what do _you_ think I should do?"

"I think it's not my decision to make, or anybeast else's but yours." Vanessa re-hung the ladle on its peg, shook her paws of excess moisture and turned to face the rabbit. "You must follow your heart in this, Tibball. Fate is offering you a chance to do something no woodlander has ever done before - and to be honest, with the state of things in Mossflower these days, I think we could use any champions for peace and cooperation we can find. If you can become one of those champions, we might all benefit from your efforts, not just Foxguard."

"Yes, but ... what if it turns out I've picked the wrong side?"

"Maybe you can help keep it from becoming the wrong side. We have great issues with Urthblood and the Gawtrybe, but my recent time with Tolar leads me to believe he may still have the best interests of peace, and of the residents of Mossflower, in mind. He has kept himself apart from so many of the schemes and strategies which have caused such strife these days. As such, I still view him as a legitimate partner with whom we can work. And, when looked at that way, who do you suppose I'd rather have holding his ear: you, or Custis?"

"Me? I'm no beast of any great importance. My words couldn't possibly carry the same weight as those of a seasoned military commander."

"I think you might be surprised on that score. Custis may be the one Tolar is forced to listen to, but you may be the voice he'd prefer to listen to, and heed. And let us not forget he's the one who approached you about this ambassadorship, which suggests his investment in this endeavor is not trivial. If you truly come to serve as a liaison between Foxguard and the good creatures of eastern Mossflower, conveying their concerns back to Tolar and opening a legitimate exchange of viewpoints between swordfox and woodlander, that might help keep Tolar grounded and aware of what's really important, and sway him from falling blindly into step with Custis in carrying out Urthblood's every order, no matter how questionable some of those orders may be."

Tibball eyed the mouse. "If you don't mind my sayin', Abbess, it sounds to me like you'd have me do this more for your benefit than mine - to spite Lord Urthblood and take your side in your differences with him ... to frustrate him here in Mossflower, and come between him and his foxes."

"Well, he's the one who's always saying he acts in the best interests of all creatures, and for the sake of the future of the lands. Even without choosing his side or ours, the duties Tolar has laid out for you can serve exactly these ends, whether Urthblood himself is sincere in his statements or not. Ultimately, you would still be serving at Tolar's behest, not mine, to further Foxguard's cause. I just happen to think your efforts might help keep Foxguard's cause one worth advancing."

"But, what of this mysterious 'change of circumstances' that had him suddenly going back on his decision to welcome you at Foxguard? Why should I still be welcome there, if you're not? I have pressed Madam Mona for an explanation, but she refuses to say anything more. It fills me with disquiet, Abbess."

"Most understandable. But I do not think you'll be in any peril, Tibball. Tolar would not still extend you this invitation if it were so. I would echo Sappakit's sentiments - that you go to Foxguard, gauge the situation there for yourself, and then reach your own decision as to whether you wish to remain, and take this responsibility upon yourself. And if you ultimately turn it down, you will always be welcome back at Redwall, to dwell there for as long as you wish - the rest of your seasons, if you like."

"Yes, I will certainly keep it in mind, Abbess. It pained me to tear myself away from the Long Patrol, and I could see myself easily spending the rest of my days in their splendid, esteemed company. They never did make me an honorary hare, you know, although I did ask. Or maybe not ask, but I did drop some very strong hints. Perhaps this can be redressed on a future visit to the Abbey. Perhaps, if I do accept Sword Tolar's offer and acquit myself superbly in forwarding the interests of Foxguard and Redwall both, I'll have earned such an honor in their eyes, and they'll be falling over themselves to bestow such a title upon me, without my even having to ask!"

Vanessa smiled encouragingly at Tibball. "Perhaps they will. And it sounds to me as if you've just made your decision."

"I ... suppose I have, Abbess. At least as far as going there goes. You're right; I can always decide to leave and return to Redwall if I find things not to my liking at Foxguard. But I'll never know if I don't at least go there, will I?"

Some time after that, the three foxes and Tibball, along with the two back-bent, heavily laboring weasels, trudged their way up the ramp to the top of the quarry. Sappakit glanced at Vanessa marching alongside them. "Not reconsidering joining us, are you, Abbess?"

"Not at all. Sword Tolar made his wishes on the matter crystal clear - as did you and Mona. Just seeing you off in proper Redwall fashion, even if we're not actually at Redwall."

The vixen regarded her with concern. "How are your paws, Abbess? The way you handled the ore even after Kyslith cautioned against it was rather reckless."

"Hardly the first reckless behavior I've engaged in this season. Don't worry about my paws; I flushed them thoroughly with river water as Kyslith advised. There may be some lingering redness and tenderness, but nothing I can't deal with. It sounds to me as if you plan on converting it into something far more harmful. A dangerous plaything for you to be toying with, Mona."

"It's not for me," Mona corrected, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary. "It's for Kyslith, as he has already explained."

"And it's hardly a toy, or a plaything," the glassmaker hastened to add. "I will be using it in my work, and that is a serious thing indeed."

"As you say." Vanessa's attention shifted to the two weasels. "Too bad we couldn't lend you the use of our cart, but we've only one, and we'll soon be needing it to start hauling stone up out of the quarry and to the river."

"It shouldn't be a worry, ma'am," Sappakit assured her. "Even loaded with rocks, these packs can't weigh any great deal more than when they were full of Realms, and our weasels made it to Redwall all right with those. We'll get by fine."

Reaching the apex of the ascending stone causeway and stepping up onto the grass growing around the quarry pit, Vanessa folded her paws before her. "Please send Sword Tolar my regrets, and the heartfelt wishes that whatever serious circumstances currently holding sway at Foxguard may soon reverse and correct themselves so that I may finally make my long-overdue visit to your fine fortress. Tibball, I wish you the best of good luck with whatever awaits you, and however you decide. Sisters Grace and Orellana have your measurements, so if you decide to stay on at Tolar's pleasure as his Ambassador to eastern Mossflower, we'll have your requested dress jacket made up and delivered by Sparra in good time for you to commence your official duties. Remember, whichever path you choose, Redwall is always there for you, either to return to or to lend you whatever assistance we may. We're just across the Moss, only a short Sparra's flight away."

"Thank you, Abbess. I will remember that, you can be sure of it."

Farewells completed, the Foxguard-bound company set off to the south, striking out across the meadows for the forest which lay between the quarry and the fox stronghold. Maybe this time, in the company of foxes and weasels, Tibball would not get lost in these woodlands as he did once before.

And maybe, just maybe, things would not turn out badly for the bachelor rabbit. But Vanessa lacked any foresight on the matter either way.

Turning to descend the ramp again, the Abbess/Warrior determined to dispatch a Sparra to Foxguard at the earliest opportunity, to see exactly what was going on there which would force Tolar to so abruptly rescind his invitation. Whether that sparrow would be welcome at the fox fortress was another matter ... and entirely academic, since what needed to be done would be done. But for now, it was time to see about getting some of this quarried stone back to Redwall so that construction on Freetown could begin in earnest.

 **MOSSFLOWER**

With the frequent rest breaks required by the rock-hauling weasels, Sappakit's party did not reach Foxguard until late in the afternoon. Long before the six travellers broke out into the clearing surrounding the fortress, however, they encountered a far larger force heading out along the same forest path.

"Oh great," Sappakit muttered under his breath. "Couldn't even wait until we were all the way back to run into this lot." Turning to Tibball, he warned, "Keep yourself small, and call no undue attention to yourself. This is one fox you'll not want to tangle with."

The rabbit nodded mutely as he got his first good look at the broad and towering Jaffox drawing nearer; if there was one thing Tibball was good at, it was keeping himself small, and now looked like an excellent occasion to do just that.

The senior swordfox halted ahead of the approaching column, allowing Jaffox to close the distance between them on his own - and, hopefully, pass on by with little or no interaction. Sappakit had endured all of the brutish Northlander he could stomach while awaiting Tolar's return from Redwall, and hoped to avoid rubbing shoulders with Jaffox any more than absolutely necessary for the remainder of the season.

Jaffox had been marching at the head of his foxes with sword drawn, as he often did in unfamiliar terrain; now he turned the blade point-down into the hard-packed earth of the trail, leaning on the weapon's hilt like a cane. "Well well well. Was wond'rin' where you'd snuck off to. Roundin' up some wayward beasts for our good Sword, I see." Shifting his gaze to the vixen, he put on the smarmiest smile of greeting imaginable. "Why, hullo there, Mona my sweet. Been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Not long enough," Mona murmured, barely loud enough for her immediate companions to hear, then forced a sociable smile of her own. "Hullo, Jaffox. Imagine my surprise when I heard you and your foxes were in Mossflower. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Lord Urthblood's orders, you know. I go where he says, an' do what he tells me to do. You know, like any loyal fighter in his service would do." He regarded Kyslith at her side. "An' who is this? Taking a new companion fer yerself? Our Sword not sword enuff for you? Far from soldierly material, even by th' standards of th' greenest recruits. Hardly a trade up, is he, my dear?"

While Kyslith shifted on his paws, clearly uncomfortable with the blatant insinuations Jaffox was making, Mona adopted a far more indignant and assured stance. "Nothing like that at all, so get your mind out of the latrine. Kyslith here was Master Trelayne's longtime apprentice, and will be striking out on his own as Foxguard's resident glassmaker. He is extremely talented in that area, and we will be richer for having him."

"Glassmaker, huh?" Jaffox sniffed. "Not plannin' on craftin' any more preposterous statues of long-dead heroes, are we? 'Cos Foxguard's already got all it needs of those."

"Actually, I was planning on applying myself to more practical - "

"An' what have we here?" Jaffox went on, rudely cutting off Kyslith without even the pretense of cordiality, his bemused gaze coming to rest on the practically cowering Tibball. "Ears on the hoof?"

"A local representative," Sappakit explained. "Sword Tolar has some minor business with him regarding routine affairs in nearer Mossflower."

"Hmm. If it's about supplying us with food, do keep in mind I was never 'specially fond of carrots. Hope this farmer grows more than that."

Tibball stammered wordlessly, caught between insult over being mistaken for a farmer and relief that Jaffox seemed ready to dismiss him as merely that.

"And where are all of you off to?" Sappakit inquired, a sudden stroke of worry knitting his brow. "Not to the quarry, I trust?"

"The quarry? What would I want with that pile of rocks? 'Sides, I hear it's swarming with Redwallers these days, an' I've got no interest in dealin' with 'em."

"Not heading back North so soon, are you?" Mona falsely lamented. "It would be a shame we missed each other."

"North, aye - but not to th' Northlands," Jaffox replied, dashing all their hopes. "Gonna go see to that horde hunkerin' down in its valley. Sword Tolar's been remiss in not bringin' 'em in 'fore now, so decided t' take it upon myself to recruit 'em. But don't worry - I'll be back at Foxguard just as soon as I'm done there."

"Pretty late in the day to be heading out for such a mission," Sappakit observed. "That valley's at least two days' march from here, maybe three. Leaving at first light would have made more sense."

"Half of us were out late last night on a special assignment. Hadta catch up on our sleep this morn, so couldn't leave then. But don't you worry, we'll get there just fine. We all will."

At this prompt, Sappakit and Mona and even the less professionally-observant Tibball noted the phantom rustle of many Gawtrybe racing through the shadowy treetops above in their role of invisible escort to Jaffox's squad. Sappakit judged by the sound that the squirrels passing overhead must number scores at least, and perhaps represented the entire reserve contingent Jaffox had brought down with him from the Northlands.

"Sounds like you're mounting a major operation," the black-clad swordfox said. "You're certainly not going into it short-pawed."

"Never can tell with hordes how much resistance you'll encounter. Always better t' head off fightin' with an overwhelmin' show o' force up front when you can, so that's what we're bringin'. An' if it turns into a fight anyway, we'll have force of arms t' put down as many of them as we gotta."

"Better you than me, friend. But won't that be risky, trying to put those hordebeasts under our banner without Lord Urthblood being there to inspect them himself? Not sure anything like that's ever been tried before, at least on this scale."

"Then I'm th' beast t' try it. Lord Urthblood's too busy runnin' the coastlands t' come here for this, an' if t'were up to your Sword, wouldn't get done at all, seems t' me."

Sappakit ignored this mild jab at Tolar. "I wish you success then. We'll see you back at Foxguard when you're done."

"That you will, swordswinger, that you will."

The small Foxguard-bound party stood back off the path, melting into the trees to make room for the larger brigade to pass. Tibball watched wide-eyed as the score and a half of Jaffox's crew filed by, many casting superior gazes of dismissal his way and Kyslith's, with more than one leering, lascivious glance directed toward Mona as well.

At last they were past, disappearing up the trail and into the woods on their way to their rendezvous with the valley horde, however easy or bloody it would be. Taking to the path once more, Sappakit's group pressed on in an even more somber frame of mind than before.

"Um, what's the story with them?" Tibball finally ventured in a low voice. "I just assumed all of Lord Urthblood's foxes would be like you, proper and disciplined. They looked like the worst kind of ruffians!"

"In this case, trust your first impressions, because ruffians are exactly what they are," said Mona. "We couldn't have had the Abbess visiting Foxguard with them around - Tolar was entirely correct on that, and wise to send word to us in advance. Fortunately, it looks like we'll be rid of them for a good while now, because that horde's likely to keep Jaffox tied up for quite some time. Breaking a horde is seldom quick and easy, not even for Lord Urthblood himself."

"I hope this won't dissuade you from accepting Sword Tolar's offer," Sappakit said to Tibball. "Jaffox and his brutes might seem fearsome, but Tolar still runs Foxguard, and his word rules there. He'll see to it that nobeast troubles you."

Tibball shuddered at the notion of sharing the vulpine stronghold with Jaffox. "That seems rather a tall order even for your Sword, if you don't mind my saying. I mean, I hesitated dwelling at Foxguard on account of the Gawtrybe, but these new foxes seem even worse!"

Sappakit stared morosely straight ahead. "Nobeast's as bad as the Gawtrybe - but Jaffox and his crew are probably as close as you're going to get."

 **THE RIVER MOSS**

"Hey! Some of our rafts're gone!"

Montybank, marching at the fore of the riverbound procession alongside Vanessa and the two hares, and possessing a height advantage over any of his companions, was the first among them to spot what would soon become obvious to all. Behind them, drawn by four of Monty's otters, rocked and creaked the quarry cart, fully loaded with the first shipment of Redwall-bound sandstone for the foundations of Freetown. Foremole and several of his crew, along with Lekkas and Clovis, also trod around and behind the groaning, swaying wagon, their entire ragged column making its slow way across the meadow grasses into the glare of the setting sun.

Traveller squinted at the riverbank ahead, paw to brow, and quickly concurred with the otter Skipper's assessment. "Yah, an' it looks like they nabbed only th' bigger ones, 'cos I still see our smaller Abbey ferry up on th' banks, along with our shrew friends' logboats. You lot take a breather while Satty an' I go scout about for clues as to the possible perpetrators ... tho' I can already make an educated guess as to which bushtailed, arrogant treejumpers were behind it."

The two hares sprinted ahead and performed a hasty inspection of the approaches to the missing watercraft, treading with care themselves so as not to disturb any telling evidence. Monty glanced aside at Vanessa while they waited. "I know them Gawtrybe've turned out t' be the most arrogant rogues this side of Urthblood 'imself, but never thought even they'd be bold 'n' thoughtless 'nuff t' steal away with the barges we need for Freetown. What would they even need 'em for?"

"I can make a pretty good guess on that myself. But let's wait to hear what our Long Patrol friends have to report when they rejoin us."

Traveller and Saticoy bounded back to the main group in very short order, their noses-to-the-ground survey taking far less time than anybeast would have supposed. "Hafta admit when I'm mistaken, an' I sure was this time," the old runner hare stated. "Lotsa tracks an' pawprints all over th' bloomin' place down there, an' they're all from just two species: rats ... an' foxes."

Monty stood flabbergasted by this revelation. "Are y' shore, Travvs matey? I always saw Tolar as bein' on the up-an'-up with us, an' never figgered he 'n' his brushtails would play us wrong like this."

"Guess His Bloodiness has got all his beasts back in a row, doin' wotever he blinkin' tells 'em to." Traveller looked meaningfully to Vanessa. "Looks like we might have no friends left on this side of the Moss after all, much as we might've hoped otherwise - an' much as Tolar paid lip service to good relations 'tween us. Also points t' why Tolar didn't want us followin' after him to Foxguard. Must've been plannin' this nefariousness all along, lyin' to our faces ev'ry bit as much as any Gawtrybe ever did."

"I'm not ready to give up on Tolar just yet, Field Marshal. For one thing, sending us word we were no longer welcome at Foxguard might well have led us to leave the quarry sooner than we did, in which case we'd either have gotten to the barges before they did, or else risked running into them right in the middle of this theft. The logistics don't entirely make sense to me, if it truly was Tolar behind it. Could it be this was a group of rats and foxes travelling together who had nothing to do with Foxguard or the Purge?"

Traveller raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You serious, marm? With th' Gawtrybe patrollin' these woods like they are, an' havin' that lookout tower too?"

"No, that's not very probable, is it? Any large group of rats this close to Foxguard would be here for only one reason: Because they were already gathered up in the Gawtrybe's sweeps. Which means that this was a group of captives being moved along to the searats - and their captors have decided to start using our own barges for that purpose ... without consulting us, of course."

Montybank looked supremely disappointed in himself. "Keelrot! Shoulda posted a few o' my crew here, along with some o' our Guosim mateys too, to keep anything like this from happ'nin'. Never occurred to me our fox friends or even th' Gawtrybe would try somethin' as underpawed as this, an' we were so intent on guardin' the quarry itself, keepin' us all safe there ... "

"You're not to be faulted, Skipper," Lekkas assuaged the otter. "If it was a failure of imagination and foresight, the rest of us are just as guilty of it as you are. I'm as responsible for this Freetown project as anybeast, if not moreso. I bear just as much blame in this as you do."

"Only beasts t' blame here, far as I'm concerned, are the backstabbin' blighters who pilfered our barges," said Traveller. "An' I think the Abbess is quite right about those rats bein' prisoners in transit, because their pawprints showed all sizes - youngbeast and adult all mixed together - while the fox prints were all on the large side. Almost certainly all male. And ... "

"Yes, Field Marshal?" Vanessa prompted.

"Well, not sure it's important, an' almost hesitate mentionin' it, but one set in particular caught Satty's eye, an' mine too. It's a dogfox, but bigger'n any we've ever seen before - bigger than any swordswinger of Tolar's brigade, unless he's been hidin' a right giant from us."

"Hmm. That would suggest we've got a new player in all of this - either somebeast local whom Custis has recruited to help him with the Purge, or else a fox in Urthblood's service who's not part of the regular swordfox brigade. And that could mean these weren't Tolar's foxes after all, and that Tolar may not even have approved of this theft, or even known about it. We can only hope that's the case, because I truly would like to keep his foxes on our side in all of this, if may be."

"Dunno 'bout _that,_ Nessa," said Monty, "but if Tolar's got all th' Gawtrybe an' now a bunch o' new henchfoxes on top o' that to contend with, all runnin' 'round behind his back doin' stuff he'd not approve of - or' worse yet, disobeyin' him outright - makes a beast wonder just who's in charge of that tower these days, don't it?"

"A very good question, Monty," the former Abbess agreed, "and one I fully intend to pursue. Tolar may have made it plain we're not presently welcome at Foxguard, but surely that ban would not extend to a simple messengerbird dropping by briefly to exchange and gather news. As soon as we get back to Redwall, I'll dispatch a Sparra scout to scope out Foxguard from the air, see if there are any signs of a new group of foxes stationed there who aren't Tolar's, and to land and speak with our suddenly-reluctant Sword if he may. But, in the meantime ... "

Vanessa resumed walking toward the Moss, prompting the others to fall into step behind her, the heavily-weighted cart creaking and rocking into action once more. "Not _all_ of our ferry barges were stolen, and we still have what we need to get this load of stone and ourselves across without any delay. So let's see to that for now, and see about getting the first stone laid for Freetown before this season gets any older!"


	9. Chapter VIII

**VIII.**

 **THE _DARKTIDE_**

Tratton stood at the prow of the _Darktide_ , watching as Salamandastron drew nearer.

Even this close to his objective, its rocky crags growing more defined with each rise and dip of the coastbound vessel and the crimson badger pennant flapping atop the plateau becoming clearly discernible, even now lingering doubts gnawed at the back of the Searat King's mind. This was always to be a gambit, a dare, a challenge - but one posed only by himself, to himself. Why did he feel the need to go through this, to subject himself to such uncertainties and potential dangers, to place himself fully in the paws of former enemies and hostile woodlanders who either never honored the Accord in the first place or who might now, given the chance, abrogate any agreements in order to deprive the Searat Empire of its founding master and guiding strength?

No sooner did he think these thoughts than Tratton's gaze drifted to his right, starboard toward the south, where out there lurked the ever-churning Green Maelstrom, and again he knew why he did this, his resolve renewed. Every new captain of the Fleet made his customary run past the great whirlpool - it was searat tradition predating Tratton's ascension to the throne, predating his old rivals Farca and Garwal, going back to when every searat ship sailed for herself with no unity or cooperation and no single strong claw uniting them under a common banner. Tratton himself had gone through this trial, of course, for how could he ever have commanded the fear and respect of his first crew otherwise? Some captains played it safe, skirting far out from the rotating currents where there was little chance of being captured by the ravenous and unforgiving oceanic dynamo, while others, daring and reckless and ambitious, threw caution to the winds and steered their ships right up to the fringes of no return. Every once in a great while a captain would miscalculate, his crew respond too slowly, or some other combination of factors conspire to deliver a ship into the unrelinquishing clutches of that monster, condemned to several tormenting rotations around the hole in the sea before plunging down into the watery realms known only to the monsters of the deep.

Tratton could never fully judge just how closely he'd played it himself, but it was good enough to keep his first crew faithful and obedient right up until that fateful day when a vicious storm wrecked his ship upon the shores north of Salamandastron ... where awaited a red-armored badger who would change everything.

It only made sense, then, that if mere captains must subject themselves to the trials of the Maelstrom, then he - King of all searats, master of the Fleet, head of the first true Searat Empire - must commit himself to an even more hazardous trial, one worthy of his higher standing, and one which, if he emerged from it unscathed, would bolster that standing beyond all assailability, as well as gain him firstpaw intelligence and experience which might prove crucial to the future of his rule.

Then again, maybe curiosity drove him in this as much as ambition. Whether Urthblood was genuine in the peace he'd made with Tratton, the badger certainly seemed determined to go through the motions of diplomatic normalcy and maintain the pretense of an actual peace, even if it was only pretense. Just how far would Tratton be able to push it? How much would he be able to demand from the hospitality of his former enemies before the whole facade collapsed in upon its own emptiness, before he was spurned and brought face to face with the truth that this peace went only so far?

He had to know. Even if the price for knowing was a blade between his ribs, poison slipped into his drink or his head on a pike atop the plateau of the badger mountain, he had to know.

And now, with Regelline safe on Talaga as she carried the royal heir, the time was right for him to make this thrust into uncertainty. The future was assured, even if it wasn't _his_ future. Uroza would help the Queen keep the Empire together in his absence, until the next worthy candidate to the throne emerged - or until his own bloodline was ready to claim the throne for its own.

Talarek came up alongside him, ever watchful over his imperial charge as any dedicated bodyguard must be. "There's still time t' turn around, Majesty."

"Of course there is. There always has been, from the moment we left Talaga. But we haven't yet, and we're not going to now."

"I may not be able to protect you, once we are committed, Sire."

"We've had this discussion. Once we place ourselves at Urthblood's mercy, I will expect you to do only what you can do. And if my head ends up on a pike, I suspect yours will be on display right alongside my own."

"That report from Jagtar still worries me, Majesty. He made it sound as if th' whole crew of th' _Redfoam_ knew you were aboard, knew you were headed for Salamandastron, may even know your plans once you do get there. There was a leak, from somewhere, and if lips can be so loose, there might be other dangers at play too."

"Then I guess the time to turn back would have been when I first heard his report, wouldn't it?" Tratton responded, a hint of ridicule in his tone. "If I didn't then, I'm certainly not about to now. And as to a leak, while it's true that any number of rats knew I left Talaga aboard the _Darktide_ bound for Salamandastron, none could have known of my entire intended itinerary, since I shared it with norat until after we were well out at sea - and then, only with you, Captain Kirkirt and the captains of the two fleetrunners. And we have been in contact with no other vessels since then, so the secret could not have slipped that way."

"Did Spymaster Uroza himself not know? Did you not share your plans with the Queen? The information got out somehow, Your Highness, and every source must be suspect, no matter how unlikely."

"Now you're starting to sound a little like Uroza yourself," Tratton teased. "My Spymaster would know better than to breathe a word of my intentions to anybeast, for any number of reasons. And as for the Queen, it just so happens I did _not_ share my aims with her. Unlike Uroza, she may indeed think to engage in intrigue against me on occasion, and any advance announcement of the course I pursue now might well have lit a fire in her scheming, conspiratorial tendencies. But I think you overlook the plain logistics of this mystery. You see, captain Trangle and the _Redfoam_ could not have possibly learned of these secrets through any of the channels you suggest - and those very logistics point to an entirely different source for their impossible knowledge."

Talarek raised an eyebrow, not really surprised that his sovereign might be one step ahead of him on this; Tratton didn't become King by lagging behind those around him. "Oh?"

"Think about where the _Redfoam_ just came from: Salamandastron, where she was picking up a load of woodland rats. Far from the heart of the Empire, and especially far from Talaga. Not even a fleetrunner could have reached him in time to have let Trangle know I'd left Talaga aboard the _Darktide_. Therefore, he did not learn of this from any searat - nor, I gather, through any ordinary mortal means."

Talarek's other eyebrow went up. "You think ... Urthblood ... ?"

"I see no other possibility. It would seem our badger host will be expecting me, and my arrival will not be the surprise I'd anticipated. I'm not sure what he was playing at by sharing his prophetic knowledge with one of my captains. Perhaps he also foresaw the _Redfoam_ encountering us on our way to Salamandastron, and thought to unnerve me by having Trangle reveal to me things he could not possibly know. That would fit with Urthblood perfectly. Ironically, now that I have seen through this particular ruse of his, it actually serves to reassure me - the opposite of what he no doubt intended."

"Oh? In what way, Sire?"

"I knew I would be venturing foursquare into Urthblood's domain, regardless of any other eventualities; that was always to be the primary danger. The badger foreseeing my arrival simply means he will know of it sooner than he otherwise might have. Aside from that, it changes nothing. And, by knowing that this leak came from him and not my own rats, my qualms about any possible traitors are allayed, leaving me free to focus on what I came here to do. If his scheme was to throw my thoughts into disarray and worry over what lies at my back rather than what lies before me, he has failed. Thus, before we have even tied up at his pier and disembarked, we have shown he cannot have his way in all things."

Tratton raised his long glass to his eye to confirm what his unaided gaze had already told him. "No other ships tied up to Salamandastron's jetty at the moment - ours or anybeast else's. Looks like we'll have this moment to ourselves, to make whatever impression we may and command the sole attention of our hosts. So, let us deliver ourselves into the badger's jaws, and see what he has planned for us!"

 **SALAMANDASTRON**

Matowick decided to go down and greet the _Darktide_ personally.

He really need not have bothered. After all, it was hardly an unusual occurrence to have searat ships tying up to the mountain's pier these days, and as the ranking officer left in charge of Salamandastron in Lord Urthblood's absence, he could just as easily have sent out one of the other captains to receive the galleon, or none at all. For surely this was just another routine landfall for just another ordinary searat crew, perhaps to wait here for the next batch of captives (although Matowick had received no word on when to expect those), perhaps for some other matter of protocol, or perhaps just to test the Accord, as any number of Tratton's vessels had done so far. The fact that this one was accompanied by a pair of the small, fast messenger craft suggested that perhaps this was about delivering new information or instructions to Erzath, or taking an intelligence report from the Ambassador, and the larger ship was merely along for the ride, as it were. This was certainly no attack force, and while Salamandastron always raised itself to a heightened state of alert when any number of searats appeared at its gate, this present contingent rated no cause for undue worry.

But in the two days since Lord Urthblood's departure aboard the _Stronganchor_ , things at the mountain fortress had proven so uneventful that Matowick welcomed this opportunity to deviate from the humdrum. He'd enjoyed plenty of family time with Perri and Elberon, in between reviews of the lower ranks and inspections of the stronghold's preparedness, reports from the new gull captain Lornbill and issuing daily assignments to everybeast under his command. Going out to greet the newly-arrived searat galleon presented a chance to mix things up a bit, even if it turned out - as it almost surely must - to be a break from the routine which would prove little more than routine itself. Thus did Matowick now stand on the shore just above the head of the pier along with a dozen of his fellow Gawtrybe, none of them particularly concerned with what this new arrival might bring.

All three vessels docked more or less together, deckpaws from the _Darktide_ rappelling down the side of the galleon to land upon the jetty and tie up the ship there while the gangplank was lowered. The two fleetrunners tied up in less spectacular and entertaining fashion, and their proper crews were the first out onto the stone wharf.

There was always something about Tratton's spyrats that set them apart from others of their kind - something in their bearing and demeanor, the way they carried and presented themselves, the cold calculation and assessment of their gazes, even colder and more bloodless than that of any ordinary searat. Six of those dread creatures now disembarked from the pair of messenger boats; two went to the far end of the pier out toward the sea, two tarried by the _Darktide_ , and the last two stalked up to the head of the jetty, halting a dozen paces from the Gawtrybe. There they stood, unspeaking, practically unblinking, scrutinizing the squirrels and the mountain beyond them and the beach around them with keen gazes trained to miss nothing.

"Welcome to Salamandastron," Matowick said to them, feeling anything but welcoming toward these particular rats. "What business brings you to our home this day?"

The two spyrats made no reply, holding their ominous silence as they regarded the Gawtrybe as if the woodlanders were dubious specimens of study, worthy only of suspicion and tactical assessment.

A bowmaid by the name of Poinsett looked to Matowick, showing the same apprehensive confusion as her companions. "What's this all about, sir?"

"I don't know. This isn't usual. At least I don't think it is." It occurred to Matowick then that he didn't really know what constituted "usual" for searat landings, since he was so seldom on paw for them.

What came next hardly offered the awaiting Gawtrybe reassurance over the situation. A veritable phalanx of armed rats poured down the gangplank from the _Darktide_ onto the pier, taking up position along the jetty in an unmistakably militaristic formation, two neat ranks with spears raised as if ready for action.

The shorebound squirrels tensed, holding to their own slightly less provocative formation. "What do we do, sir?" Poinsett asked, clearing itching to reach back for an arrow from her quiver to nock to her bowstring - and she wasn't the only Gawtrybe there to display such twitchiness.

"Hold fast," Matowick ordered. "This is still way too small to be an invasion force. Lornbill and his gulls will be watching from the plateau, ready to burn that ship if these rats mean to cause us trouble, and the inner gallery of the main entrance is guarded heavily enough to repel any hostile force that tries to fight its way in through there. So let's just wait and see what these rats have in mind."

"Do you think it's possible they know Lord Urthblood has left Salamandastron, and are here because of that?"

"Given Tratton and his spyrats, I'm not even going to guess what they know and what they don't know."

Another group of searats, this one smaller than the first, came down the gangplank in a more leisurely and less regimented manner, reaching the pier and inserting itself between the parallel ranks so as to have a protective flank at either paw. This maneuver led Matowick to regard the proceedings in an entirely new light.

"That almost looks ... like an honor guard."

"Looks to me like they still mean business, whatever they are, sir," said Poinsett. "Do you suppose we're getting ourselves a new Ambassador?"

This supposition immediately clicked with Matowick. "Yes ... yes, that would explain this perfectly. Lord Urthblood's dropped hints all season that Tratton might not be so happy with the job Erzath's doing here, and might seek to replace him. And it would be just like Tratton to undertake this without sending us any advance notice. This kind of pomp and pageantry would certainly fit for an Ambassador; in fact, I can't think of any other explanation for this show they're putting on now."

That alternate explanation soon presented itself. With the second group firmly ensconced between its twin files of guards, the entire procession shuffled forward along the wharf toward the waiting Gawtrybe, spears raised ceremonially but not so ceremonially that they couldn't be brought into instant play if called upon. As they drew nearer, an impossible figure came into view, emerging from the creatures around it with an assured bearing and relaxed but imperious manner that set it apart and above. Matowick stood stunned speechless as the figure stopped before him on the sand, flanked by the two ominous advance spyrats along with an equally imposing swordsrat who looked like he enjoyed slicing the livers of living beasts. For long moments the figure regarded the Gawtrybe Captain with mismatched eyes of green and lavender.

"Well," Tratton prompted at last, "aren't you supposed to say something here?"

Matowick found himself giving a half-bow almost reflexively. "Your Majesty, this is most ... um, unexpected. We were not ... well, expecting you."

"Truly?" Tratton seemed almost surprised by this admission. "And yet you were out here waiting for me."

"Standard protocol for any searat vessel tying up at Salamandastron," Matowick explained, regaining some of his composure while his fellow squirrels looked on in either flabbergasted surprise or puzzlement. Not all had been present for the signing of the Accord, and had never laid eyes on Tratton before this moment. But Matowick's genuflection and invocation of the royal title, along with the murmuring of those who did recognize the sea lord from prior firstpaw experience, left little doubt as to the identity of this stranger. Could this truly be the Searat King himself, come to them as casually as an ordinary trader, with no warning or notice whatsoever?

"So," Matowick continued, "what brings you to Salamandastron, Your Majesty?"

"Just seeking a brief word with your master before I move on. I was hoping he could perhaps facilitate me in my travels. May we go inside?"

Matowick started at Tratton as if the question made no sense. "You want to come inside? Into the mountain?"

"Unless Lord Urthblood would rather come out here to speak with me. Either way, I scarcely expect to be kept standing out here all day. It's rather cloudy, and hardly fine beach weather. Why, is there a problem?"

"There ... um ... I'm not ... might I ask you to wait here a short while, Your Majesty? I must ... check on this."

"Of course. I appreciate that you must naturally consult with Lord Urthblood to determine his wishes. I will wait."

"I, um, I'll be right back." Turning to Poinsett, he whispered, "Just hold here and see that there's no trouble."

"No trouble?" the female Gawtrybe repeated, as if such an order lacked all meaning under such circumstances.

"Just make sure nobeast dies," Matowick clarified, and then hurried up the beach and through the main gate of the seaside fortress as fast as his legs could carry him.

00000000000

"Whaddya mean, he wants t' come inside?" Tillamook asked, as confused as anybeast in Salamandastron that morning.

Matowick huddled with Tillamook and Mattoon in their hastily-convened captains' meeting up in the dining hall. "That's what he said. It's clear he wants to speak with Lord Urthblood. I thought at first that he might have found out somehow that His Lordship had left for Southsward, and sought some advantage in Lord Urthblood's absence, but unless he's playing at some game, that doesn't appear to be the case at all. He seems to fully expect that badger to be here, and wants to meet with him."

"Well, ain't that just too bad fer 'im," the hedgehog said unsympathetically. "If there was sumpthin' 'portant 'nuff t' bring him to Salamandastron, he shoulda sent word ahead to expect 'im. Not like he don't have enuff of them liddle messenger boats of 'is. Can't expect Lord Urthblood t' just be sittin' 'round waitin' on him in case he drops by unannounced. Serves 'im right that the beast he wants t' talk to ain't here."

"What worries me is what he's here for," said Matowick. "Where Tratton goes, nothing good can follow. And he does have a lot of armed fighters with him."

"You think he means t' take th' mountain?" Mattoon worried.

Matowick pursed his lips in thought. "I just don't see how. Even if that galleon's hold is crammed with fighters, I still don't think it would be enough to overcome our defenses. And our gulls report no other searat ships within a day's sail of Salamandastron. Whatever he has in mind, he's going to do it with just the rats he's got with him now, because there aren't any reinforcements standing by."

"What about 'is steel ships?" Tillamook posited. "Could there be any o' them lurkin' nearby, submerged so's we can't see 'em? Ready t' take us by surprise with hunnerds more searat warriors?"

Matowick shook his head. "Even his biggest ironclads can't carry those kinds of numbers, by all accounts, and they can't entirely submerge either, so they'd still have been spotted by Lornbill's gulls. The only ships of Tratton's we know of that can run entirely underwater are tiny craft, only capable of holding a few rats, or a couple dozen at most."

"That we know of," the weasel captain countered. "I was there when we discovered th' first of them fiendish boats, an' even Lord Urthblood was taken at a loss. Who c'n say what else Tratton mighta cooked up that we don't know about?"

Matowick nodded. "Yes, and the stormpowder took us by surprise as well two winters ago - and many squirrels, otters and shrews paid for that discovery with their lives. Fortunately, it proved a secret weapon of Tratton's that we could turn against him, since any searat ship with a hold full of stormpowder that's set ablaze will die a fairly spectacular death."

"Reckern he's got any of that treacherous stuff out on that ship outside now?" Tillamook speculated.

"Wouldn't surprise me if he did," Matowick answered, "but since we're not seriously considering firing that ship - at least not at this point - that's rather academic. What's _not_ academic is that he's standing outside our gates at this very moment asking for an audience with a Badger Lord who isn't here. So, do we let him in, or turn him away? Do we even acknowledge Lord Urthblood's absence, or keep that detail from him?"

"We could always ask Lord Urthblood what t' do," Mattoon reminded his fellow captain. "Last word was he's still a few days out from Southsward, even after havin' found th' Roarin'burn. We could have a gull to th' _Stronganchor_ an' back in a single day with 'is Lordship's reply."

Matowick smirked. "Somehow, I can't picture Tratton standing out on the beach with his guards while we await Lord Urthblood's reply."

"Then 'ee can go back in 'is stinky ol' ship while 'ee waits," Tillamook gruffed. "Tho', wouldn't surprise me if 'ee's got more lavish 'n' comfortable accommerdations on that floatin' fortress than any we got here in th' mountain."

"But, what if we do let 'im in - either on Lord Urthblood's say so, or our own - an' it turns out t' be a trick?" Mattoon worried. "Mebbe he's got some new weapon, like th' stormpowder or the Flitchaye gas, that'd let 'im capture Salam'dastron once he's in? Take out all us captains, put us all asleep, poison us, or some other nefarious ploy? He's surprised us before; mebbe he means t' surprise us again."

"I can't speak to that," said Matowick. "No matter what happens, we'll just have to remain alert for any possibility, just as Lord Urthblood would expect us to. But one thing I'm fairly sure of: If we do let Tratton in, he'll insist on bringing a large contingent of his guards with him."

"Then we don't let 'im in," Tillamook bluntly concluded. "Simple as that."

Matowick remained skeptical of such suspicion. "I don't know. Even if Tratton still did harbor designs against Salamandastron, it seems to me he'd send spies or fighters for any such gambit, perhaps disguised as a diplomatic overture, but he'd never put himself in the middle of it. He'd never expose himself to anything with the potential to go so horribly wrong for him, and end his life in an ignominious defeat."

"Are we sure that's even Tratton out there, an' not some kinda double or decoy?" Tillamook mused.

"Oh, it's Tratton, all right," Matowick assured the hedgehog. "Of that there's no doubt. I'd not forget that rat, even if I live to be a hundred seasons."

"Mebbe we should just take 'im out," Tillamook dared to suggest. "I mean, if'n 'ees gonna just deliver 'imself inta our paws like this, ought we really pass up such a chance? To put an end to 'is threat once an' fer all?"

"Don't think I'm not tempted," Matowick admitted. "But Lord Urthblood left no instructions whatsoever as to what we should do in a situation like this. He never even seemed to entertain the notion that such a scenario could occur. And if it lay outside his foresight, what we do here could be crucial to the future of the lands. If we slay Tratton - assuming we could even pull it off - would Urthblood laud us as heroes, or condemn us for breaking the Accord? Would Tratton's death be the obvious boon to all good creatures it would appear, or would it unleash some disaster we cannot imagine? Remember the ratmaid we sent away on that last ship? A creature so heavily fated that she could have destroyed Lord Urthblood had he slain her? Who could have guessed such a beast could even exist? These are heavily fated times, and no action of the kind we're talking about now can be taken without knowing what kind of havoc it could let loose. No, I don't see killing Tratton now as an option. We just can't predict where it would lead."

"Do you reckern that ratmaid's th' reason Tratton's here now?" Mattoon speculated. "That mebbe she's muckin' things up fer him too, an' it's got him riled up?"

"He didn't seem especially riled to me," said Matowick. "And he did seem to think we'd be expecting him. That's one thing I can't figure out."

"Do you suppose Lord Urthblood _t'were_ expectin' him, an' saw fit not t' tell us fer some reason?" Tillamook postulated.

"Can't see what sense that would make for any of us."

"Mebbe Tilly's onta sumpthin'," Mattoon said. "I mean, Lord Urthblood hasn't left Salamandastron in seasons, and Tratton droppin' by outta th' blue like this was a likelihood so remote that none o' us woulda credited it 'fore today. Chances of both those things happ'nin' at th' same time ... " The weasel shrugged.

"I'd say it points more to Tratton having good spies than anything having to do with Lord Urthblood's designs," Matowick said, unconvinced.

"Except if that was true," Tillamook countered, "he'd already know Urthblood wasn't here - an' you say he's insistin' on talkin' to 'is Lordship."

"Could be a searat ruse," Mattoon ventured, "testin' us on sumpthin' he already knows t' see how much we'll reveal, an' what it takes t' draw it outta us."

"An' another thing," Tillamook added. "Lord Urthblood only left here two days ago, an' didn't announce his intentions t' any o' us 'til just 'fore he was ready t' sail. No way Tratton coulda got here from Terramort so quick. Hadta already be on 'is way - which means couldn'ta been 'is spies, Naw, sumpthin' more's goin' on 'ere - I'm just stymied as t' what it could be."

"Well, we have to decide what to do pretty quickly, because Tratton won't stand for standing out there forever. If we keep him waiting much longer than we already have, he's liable to march right back aboard his ship and sail away again."

The others regarded Matowick at this statement, and Tillamook voiced what they all thought. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

"No. No, it wouldn't. It's also not going to happen. Whatever Tratton's here for, he'd not have ventured all this way lightly. Which means he'll not be turned away lightly either."

"So, let's ask him what he wants," Tillamook stated plainly.

"That may be easier said than done. He struck me as somewhat cagey and evasive just now. It could be he'll only say what he has to say to Lord Urthblood himself. And I'm totally torn as to what to do."

Tillamook gave the squirrel a less-than-sympathetic look. "Well, this's yer decision t' make, Matti, since ye're th' one Lord Urthblood left in charge!"


	10. Chapter IX

**IX.**

 **SALAMANDASTRON**

"Don't turn yer back to the enemy, Majesty," Talarek warned, somewhat alarmed that his sovereign would disregard so basic a tactical tenet.

"What enemy? We're at peace now. The Accord says so." Tratton stood at the head of the jetty, his back to Salamandastron as he admired the mostly-unfurled tricolor sails of the _Darktide_ on display. "I always enjoy the sight of any ship of the Fleet showing her full red, black and green. Royal colors ... Imperial colors. Lets the land beasts remember who truly controls the seas. Besides, if some treachery should be afoot here, I've got you and Uroza's spyrats and all my Guard to protect me. So concern yourself less with the direction of my gaze and more with your own responsibilities, and all will be well."

Talarek kept his eyes firmly planted on the silent mountain, alert for any signs of hostile intent. "Urthblood's a sly one, Yer Highness, clever an' ruthless an' resourceful. He might've come up with ways of treachery we'd not be able to guard against. An' if he has ... "

"Then you'll get to see how fast I can run back to the _Darktide_ and up that gangplank. The _Butcher Buoy_ is standing ready for such a contingency, tied up off the stern where nobeast ashore will be able to see it. With her powder hold emptied, there's no danger of the _Darktide_ exploding, even if she is set ablaze, and these newly-treated canvases of Clucus's should take much longer to catch fire, even if they're saturated with an oil bombardment. Every precaution has been taken, I am confident of that."

"Every one except turnin' around an' scuttlin' this mission. That would've been the surest one of all."

"Too late for that now, Talarek, so do your job, and we may yet get out of this alive."

The Guardrat scrutinized the main entry to Salamandastron above them, its gates yawning wide. Within those dark recesses could occasionally be glimpsed snatches of indistinct movement, but nothing to suggest the imminent appearance of Urthblood, or the return of the squirrel captain to rejoin his fellows, who held to their grim, uncertain line symbolically separating the searats from the mountain fortress. "I don't like this, Yer Majesty. It's taking too long. Even if no treachery's coming our way, it's disrespectful - an insult an' an affront, an indignity toward you not to be suffered or tolerated ... "

"And yet here I am, tolerating it and hardly suffering at all. We will wait, Talarek. Urthblood has me here at his doorstep, and whatever he chooses to do now, ignoring me is not any option he can seriously consider. He will respond. With good will or ill, he will respond."

A more defined movement from the mountain entrance caught Talarek's keen eye. "Sire, he's returnin'!"

The "he" in question turned out to be none other than Matowick himself, emerging from Salamandastron every bit as alone as he'd gone in. If any schemes or plots were about to be unleashed upon the visiting searats, they clearly involved no necessary companions for the returning captain, who jogged back down the sandy slope in purely solitary fashion. Several of the waiting Gawtrybe, breaking from their assigned diligence, glanced over their shoulders with immense relief that this terse, awkward standoff was now to be resolved, one way of the other.

The squirrels parted to allow Matowick to step right up to Tratton and his escorts. "My apologies for the wait, Your Majesty, but some discussion was involved, as you may well imagine. It has been decided that you may enter Salamandastron if you wish, but you may only bring two of your guards with you."

Tratton stared Matowick down with calm assurance. "Unacceptable. Two would never suffice. I must insist upon ten, at a minimum - in addition to my chief Guard here."

Matowick returned the Searat King's gaze without compromise, seemingly about to rebuke such an unreasonable demand, but then merely said, "Very well. Ten, plus your head guard, may accompany you within."

"And they will not relinquish their arms. That would rather defeat the purpose of having them as my Guard in the first place."

"Naturally, Your Highness. You may all keep your weapons, if it please you to do so."

"I must also insist on having two of my intelligence rats with me as well. They will be necessary for the discussions I have in mind."

"No."

"No?"

"If you must consult with them during these talks, you will have to do so out here on the shore, or aboard your ship."

"That would be rather ... unwieldy."

Matowick coolly regarded the two sinister agents of Uroza's standing with Tratton. "If any spyrat tries to enter Salamandastron, it will be shot on sight - even though it be standing at your side. Majesty."

"Well, that's plain enough. Very well then. Shall we be going?"

Matowick swept his paw for Tratton to proceed. "After you, Your Majesty."

The Searat King gave the squirrel a bemused look. "You _must_ be joking. You first, Captain."

Moments later the Gawtrybe were leading the searats up the beach and into the mountain, Tratton having hastily picked out the ten members of his Royal Guard to accompany him within. Those protectors now trudged through the sands with spears on shoulders, less overtly threatening than before now that diplomacy looked to be winning out over hostilities, but still armed with shaft and blade and alert for any sign of betrayal. Talarek proceeded alongside his master with eyes and ears even sharper than those of the rats under him, half expecting a trap to be sprung at any moment and hoping the paw he kept on his sword hilt wouldn't be too obvious a pose of mistrust ... not that he really cared, the safety of his Emperor holding far more importance in his mind than the feelings of these killer squirrels.

Upon gaining the entryway and stepping inside the fortress proper, the rats found their wariness verging over into alarm at the sight of nearly threescore Gawtrybe archers crowding the spacious vestibule and lining the natural stone gallery above, strung bows at the ready and unidentifiable engines of war aimed their way. Only Tratton, his shoulder grabbed by Talarek as the senior bodyguard sought to keep his liege close, expressed minimal surprise at this show of force. "Wouldn't you say this is a bit of overkill, Captain? Outnumbering us six-to-one, and with ranged weapons to our spears and blades? And here I thought we trusted each other."

"Oh, they aren't for you," Matowick half-lied. "They're for all your friends still outside, should they have a mind to forget their place. Only you and your immediate company have been invited inside, and should any other searats decide they want to crash this party, we'll let them know in a heartbeat what a terrible idea that would be."

Tratton's own heartbeat pounded within his chest, although he showed nothing of his inner excitement to those looking on. How many searat kings and captains and vermin warlords and would-be conquerors before him had dreamt of penetrating even this far into Salamandastron, slain for their efforts without so much as glimpsing these interior rock walls and smoothed floors and rough-hewn ceilings? And yet here he stood, gaining entry to this legendary prize not through force of arms and bloodshed beyond imagining, but by merely asking to be let in.

Perhaps there was something to be said for the Accord after all.

If he got out of this alive, that was. Scanning his surroundings with the scrutiny of a successful tyrant, attempting to commit every detail of the chamber to memory should he ever find himself here again under less hospitable circumstances, he kept his tone conversational as he commented on the one notable absence there in the entry hall. "I thought Lord Urthblood would want to be here, to officially welcome his negotiating partner into his home."

"The official welcome will take place up in the dining hall. I'll show you there right now - but be forewarned, some of the stairs and passages between here and there grow rather narrow and confining. You'll not be able to walk more than two abreast most of the way, and in some places you may need to go single file. That's just the way it is at Salamandastron."

"Thank you for the warning, Captain. My guards will still be allowed to accompany me up to meet with Lord Urthblood, of course."

The squirrel paused a beat, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Of course they will be able to accompany you."

"And they will be allowed to keep their weapons, as promised?"

"Yes - although they may need to lower their spears and carry them at their sides. Some of the passages here have rather low ceilings."

"I'm sure they'll manage. Let us be on our way then."

After numerous twists and turns down identical-looking rock corridors and climbs up stone stairways worn smooth by countless seasons of Badger Lords and Long Patrol treading upon them, even the acutely attentive Tratton lost track of their path, knowing he would never be able to retrace his steps and find his way out on his own. Many of his larger ships claimed fairly elaborate and labyrinthine layouts of their own, and then of course there was Terramort itself, whose myriad levels and chambers and corridors would certainly confuse any visitor to that dread edifice. But none of that could have prepared him for these seemingly endless tunnels carved from the living rock, a place unlike any he had ever known, or scarcely imagined. As soulless and antiseptic as his own white-marble palace was, these naturalistic interiors possessed a forbidding starkness which would be unwelcoming in the extreme to any creature who had not dwelt here for quite some time - or who was not wanted here. Tratton could picture this mountain swallowing up an entire invading army, not a single one of its fighters emerging to see daylight again as they were picked off one by one by the stronghold's defenders. It was little wonder Salamandastron had never been decisively captured and held; the entire place was one huge trap for any warlord foolish enough to try to take it for his own.

At last they emerged into what could only be the promised dining hall - and found it absolutely deserted. The rock ceiling soared to the equivalent of three or four stories overhead, while the wide floor held tables and chairs and benches enough to seat hundreds at a time, and perhaps a thousand or more. Torches in sconces all along the walls illuminated a scene devoid of any living creature, the chamber as empty and desolate as if it had been abandoned seasons ago and not seen use in all that time.

Tratton shot Matowick a cautionary look. "Where is Lord Urthblood? I was given to understand he would be meeting us here."

"Oh, I never said _that_. Now we've kept you on your paws for far too long, Your Majesty. Come, let us be seated, and then we can discuss matters more comfortably."

The searat held to his spot. "I wish to speak with Lord Urthblood directly. I trust he will be joining us presently?"

"This is his mountain, Your Majesty, and he comes and goes as he pleases. He will be along when it suits him to do so. Now, this side table over here has been set aside for us ... "

Tratton cast an acerbic gaze over the entire dining hall. "It looks to me as if every table here has been set aside for us."

"True, but a smaller one will allow us to converse more easily, and still leave room for all of you to seat yourselves."

"My guards will remain standing. It's what they do."

"Of course, Your Majesty. In that case, my Gawtrybe will remain standing as well. It's also what they, ah, do."

"I thought that at the very least my Ambassador would be here. Is Erzath also ... elsewise occupied?"

"Not as far as I know. Shall I have him summoned?"

Tratton mulled this over for half a heartbeat. "No. I don't see him adding much to the matters at paw, and I'm sure Lord Urthblood will bring him along if that badger sees reason to do so. No need to summon him separately."

Matowick ushered Tratton to the seat at one end of the side table, then seated himself at the opposite end - a symbolic arrangement granting honorary and authoritative status to each party with nobeast intervening in the space between them, widely enough separated for each to command his own diplomatic zone but not so far apart that they could not still converse with ease. The Searat King now saw why this side spot had been chosen; a similar seating arrangement at the much longer central table would have proven unwieldy, with each creature needing to raise his voice just to be clearly heard by the other.

As Talarek and his ten Palace Guard took up station around the scene - and Matowick's own group of a dozen Gawtrybe arrayed themselves slightly farther out, the two rings of protectors eying each other with unwavering alertness - Tratton commented, "I must admit, it is not Lord Urthblood's absence alone which surprises me. I would have thought you'd want a full turnout of your military strength to gather here, for ceremonial reasons if nothing else."

"I can assure you, Your Majesty, other forces of Salamandastron are standing by, and can be here to attend us with just a shout."

Tratton hardly seemed reassured by this. "That's ... good to know. It is a wise military commander who plans for all such contingencies, and deploys his resources accordingly. So, is there to be more preliminary small talk between us, or shall we just stare at each other in silence while we await your master's arrival, as we did with your underlings outside as we waited to be admitted?"

"No need to wait at all, Your Majesty. As it happens, Lord Urthblood will not be joining us today. His Lordship is not currently at Salamandastron, and has left me in charge of the mountain as the ranking commander on the scene. Therefore, whatever you came here to say, you will have to say it to me."

Nothing the Gawtrybe captain could have said could have shifted the dynamics of this meeting more radically, or left Tratton feeling like the rug has been pulled out from under him. For many heartbeats the rat sat glaring at Matowick, a dangerous look on his face. "Where is he?"

The squirrel allowed himself a satisfied smile in the face of Tratton's smoldering, suppressed wrath, knowing he'd just gained the permanent upper paw here. "Lord Urthblood has much business throughout the lands. As I said before, he comes and goes as he pleases, and does not feel it necessary to share his travel plans with you - any more than you apparently see the need to share such plans with us, given your unbidden arrival here today."

Tratton ground his fangs, inwardly struggling to process this blindside of a revelation - about the last thing he'd anticipated finding waiting for him at Salamandastron. "If his current business was urgent enough to draw him out of his own fortress, would he have waited for me, even had I sent word to expect me?"

"He may have. For curiosity's sake if nothing else, just to hear why you saw the need to visit us at this time, and in this fashion. But now it's my curiosity you'll have to satisfy - or not, as it pleases you."

"Urthblood is truly not at Salamandastron?" Tratton's omission of the honorific title was hardly inadvertent.

"I have said as much. My honor and truthfulness are not to be questioned."

"Still, I cannot help but feel I have been deceived in this matter, Captain."

"I can't imagine why you would, Majesty. At no point did I explicitly state Lord Urthblood was currently at Salamandastron. My apologies if you jumped to the wrong conclusion."

Talarek, looking on and listening, winced. No lesser creature addressed the Searat King with such thinly-veiled insolence.

"Then where did you go while you kept me waiting outside?"

"To consult with my fellow captains, of course, and make everything ready to properly receive you. A personage of your royal stature deserves the best we can offer, I'm sure you'll agree."

Tratton sat deliberating in silence for some moments, then said, "I think I would like Ambassador Erzath here for this after all. Or has he also left Salamandastron on business?"

"Not at all. He'd hardly be able to perform his ambassadorial duties if he did that, would he? I'll have him fetched at once, if you wish."

"Please."

This time Tratton did follow his own prior tongue-in-cheek suggestion and sat staring Matowick down in stony silence while they awaited Erzath's arrival, although there was nothing frivolous about the searat's manner now. Matowick seemed almost to be smugly enjoying himself; far from being discomfited or put at awkward ill ease by the tension his opposite number tried to create, he practically relished his mastery of the situation, only too well aware - as was Tratton - that the Searat King sat at his diplomatic mercy, to be accommodated or spurned as the Gawtrybe captain deemed fit. With Urthblood away, and every player in this game now aware of that fact, Matowick finally felt free to fully inhabit the mantle of authority his badger master had bequeathed him.

Or perhaps not every player. When Erzath at last appeared, escorted down one of the stairway entrances into the dining hall by the Gawtrybe sent to collect him, he froze on the bottom step, stunned by the sight of so many searat guards standing at attention around the side table. Regaining his forward momentum to cross the floor toward the silent gathering, the rat Ambassador stutter-stepped anew upon recognizing the taciturn figure seated opposite Matowick, mouth going dry at this unexpected and entirely improbable tableau.

"Ambassador." Tratton motioned toward the seat at his right paw. "Join us, please."

Suddenly jelly-kneed and trembling, Erzath made his way between the twin cordon of encircling Palace Guard and Gawtrybe, nervously taking the indicated seat. "Y-Yer Majesty, I did not expect ... I was not informed ... What brings Your Highness here?"

"A very good question," Matowick seconded from his end of the table. "And one for which I am still awaiting an answer."

"In a moment, Captain, and all will be revealed." Tratton turned to Erzarth. "Ambassador, were you aware that Lord Urthblood is not currently at Salamandastron? Because that is what my host here maintains."

"Not ... at Salamandastron?"

"I'll take that as a no. It seems our partners in the Accord have been less than fully forthcoming in keeping my official representative here appraised of all pertinent developments. Tell me, Erzath, when was the last time you actually set eyes on Lord Urthblood? How many days has it been?"

Erzath fought the urge to start counting on his paws like a schoolrat in a panicked attempt to calculate the requested figure. "Um, it has been days, Yer Majesty. Three or four, at least. He an' his guards've been restrictin' my access to most of th' mountain of late, practically keepin' me confined to my quarters."

"Is that so? Perhaps I shall have to lodge a formal complaint over your treatment. It sounds like there was much they didn't want you to see, or hear. Is there anything of value you did manage to glean that might be worth sharing with me?"

Erzath glanced at Matowick and then back to his sovereign. "There was meetin's, Yer Majesty. Ships, comin' an' goin'. That much they couldn't keep me seein'. One of ours, an' at least two that weren't. An' otters, Sire. Lots an' lots of otters. Th' seagoin' kind, if I'm not mistaken, an' not woodland riverbeasts."

"There were no other ships tied up when we landed just now." Tratton looked to Matowick. "Am I safe in assuming Lord Urthblood left on one of those vessels, Captain?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss His Lordship's travel plans. Majesty."

"Of course you aren't. But if true, this would be his first time at sea since ... well, since he sailed with _me_ when I still went by a different name, and was present to see Farca and Garwal destroy each other. And that would be most noteworthy indeed. And might also suggest he plans to be away for some time, depending on just where he's going. What was his destination, Captain?"

"As I have stated, Your Majesty - not at liberty. I think this time will be better served by discussing _your_ plans. Which I am still waiting to hear."

"Perhaps I might prefer to wait myself, and share them with your master upon his return. How long might I expect that to be, Captain?"

"I really could not say. Badger Lord business is what it is, and takes as long as it takes. He will return when it suits him, and not before then."

Tratton stared intently at Matowick.

And stared.

And stared some more.

"He's gone to Southsward, hasn't he?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that, Your Majesty."

"You don't need to. Captain, this rather changes things. I must return to my ship."

Matowick didn't try to hide his lack of disappointment. "I regret that your visit couldn't be a longer one, or more to your liking. Perhaps someday you will be able to stop in again when circumstances are more to your favor."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere, Captain, so you're not rid of me just yet. But what I have learned here has given me much to think about, and consider. I will request another meeting with you when I decide how I wish to proceed. In the meantime, I will be taking Ambassador Erzath with me for consultation, if you've no objections."

Matowick shrugged. "He's your Ambassador. You're welcome to him."

Tratton rose, prompting Erzath to nervously do the same. "Come along, Ambassador. Perhaps you will prove instructive in shedding some further light on matters for me. Captain, I will notify you when I wish to speak again."

Matowick and his Gawtrybe obligingly reverse-escorted the searat delegation back out of the dining hall to the entry chamber along the same route by which they'd come, although it could have been an entirely different series of tunnels and stairs for all Tratton could tell. Once outside, Tratton rejoined the remainder of his waiting Palace Guard on the jetty, taking them and Erzath with him along the pier and back up onto the _Darktide_ , from which none were to reappear for quite some time.


	11. Chapter X

**X.**

 **TALAGA**

The Queen of the Searats had a new favorite spectator sport.

The hapless contestant of the moment appeared to be an adolescent male rat still a season or two shy of adulthood, his unclothed frame revealing a physique which may at one time have been hale and robust but now showed the emaciated deprivations of a forced march to the coast from wherever his home had been, followed by time in a searat rowing galley. Now that doomed ratlad struggled and screamed in the clutches of a cormorant's talons and beak as the murder-minded seabird bore him higher into the sky with labored but enthusiastic flaps, upward and upward until the two creatures had dwindled into a common point, one indistinguishable from the other.

"Why must they be ... ungarbed?" Demetria asked from Regelline's side.

"Because sometimes clothes stick, and that makes things messy." Regelline spared a glance at the midwife. "In your occupation, you see many of your charges in just their fur - including me. Surely an unclothed rat doesn't offend your sensibilities?"

"There's a world of difference between an expectant mother heavy with the promise of new life, and a condemned sacrifice gripped by the terror of their situation in their final moments, Your Majesty. I care only for bringing healthy babes into the world, not for seeing prisoners to their deaths."

"Would you care not to be here then?"

"I ... felt I should see this, at least once."

"Very well then. These 'sacrifices,' as you call them, were part of the arrangements my husband had to meticulously work out to win our new allies, and keep them satisfied. It was quite fortunate for us that the _Keelblade_ pulled into harbor when she did, with a hold full of fresh oarslaves ripe for this use. That ought to be enough to sate the bloodlust of these feathered barbarians for a good many days - hopefully until the next ship can arrive. Now sit back and enjoy the show, Demetria, because our latest victim looks like he'll be dropping any moment."

Regelline and her companions sat in a rudimentary reviewing stand of sorts - just a few simple benches arrayed on a promontory overlooking the nearby target point. A crude wooden canopy covered the seating area, not to offer shade from the abundant sunshine of Talaga but to protect the audience should any overly-malicious cormorant decide to drop its tribute down upon the onlookers in an attempt to inflict additional casualties upon the hated searats. While Demetria sat at one paw of the Searat Queen, Harmata sat at the other, the dedicated head servant always loathe to be far from her Royal Highness's side. Behind them, ever on the alert, sat Trushar, his own retinue of the Queen's personal Guard numbering an even dozen, including him - more than enough, given their loaded crossbows and ready swords, to fend off any ill-advised massed assault the unpredictable cormorants might get it into their heads to mount.

Below them, on a particularly rocky and boulder-strewn stretch of shoreline, lay the spot which had in recent days become the most notorious and feared patch of ground anywhere on Talaga, a place no rat would ever want to find itself, outstripping even the dungeons and torture chambers of Fort Ballaster to the north. Dark stains colored and spattered the rocks there, above the reach of the high tide, grisly testimony to the new rituals now being carried out at this site.

The most interesting feature of the location was not the gore-splattered rocks but what stood directly above them: four narrow stone pillars sunk solidly into the hard ground so that they would not shift or give. The quartet of posts formed the corners of a square covering the area of a small cottage, and rose to a height three stories above the rock-strewn shoreline. Strung between those columns - invisible at this distance but surely there, stretched and taut and unyielding as the stone to which it was fastened - hung a horizontal grid of steel wire, of the fineness and temper Tratton had found so useful in his throne room on Terramort four seasons earlier, when a group of rebellious officers had come to take his head, and he had taken theirs instead - along with many of their arms, legs and tails.

"I hope those stupid birds never learn t' tell the difference 'tween searats an' woodland rats," Harmata remarked, her gaze rapt upon the locked duo far overhead.

"I very much doubt they'll ever be able to tell one rat from another, except by our clothes," Regelline responded with an almost detached coolness as she too sat rapt. "That's another reason for stripping the rats we give them. When they see one stumbling through the designated territory unclothed, they know it's for them."

And then the airborne duo were locked no more, the captive rat flung free as the cormorant lined up the target to its satisfaction. Now those cries of panic turned to a shriek of pure terror as the plummeting rodent fully realized his final moments were upon him - a shriek at first thin and tenuous due to distance, but transforming to a full-throated scream of horrified despair as the rat dropped closer to the onlookers.

"I hope it doesn't miss," Harmata muttered as the falling rat neared his end. "That's always so ... ordinary. And anticlimactic."

"No, I think they got it on the mark this time."

Regelline was proven correct moments later, when the rat fell past their clifftop vantage on his tragic rendezvous with the shoreline below. The cormorant had aimed well; the rat hit the wire grid, if not dead center, then near enough not to make much difference. The tight, cutting sharpness of the mesh did its work, with its latest victim's momentum and body weight doing the rest. The rat, his screams now silenced forever, hit the rocky ground in pieces, not recognizable as anything that had been alive mere heartbeats before.

In no time at all, the cormorants flocking all around descended en masse, eager to finish this ritual in their own way as they flew under the lethal grid and congregated on the scene of fresh carnage. Food was food, and they didn't much care where their meat came from.

"Well done!" Harmata lauded. Demetria, queasy, turned her head.

"That should hold them for a while," said Regelline, satisfied that her time here had not been wasted on an errant drop. "Perhaps later we'll let these bloodthirsty allies of ours have another. The _Keelblade_ had a pretty full rowing galley. Don't want to go through them too quickly, though - who can say when the next ship bearing woodland rats will arrive?"

"There are always the enemies of the Empire in Fort Ballaster's dungeons, Majesty," Trushar reminded his Queen.

"We went through half of those waiting for the _Keelblade_ to get here. I'd hate to have to burn through our remaining reserves of turncoat searats unless we absolutely have to. Much better to use all these worthless, untrustworthy land rats Urthblood sends our way, because he's certainly given us enough of them already, and Vulpez knows they're not good for anything else!"

Her latest quota of morbid spectatorship thus satisfied, Regelline rose and led her entourage out from under the protective canopy and back down the winding paths to Talaga Village, Trusher and his fellow guards keyed up to meet any cormorant assault that might be launched at them. But the searats reached the safety of populated territory without incident; the feared seabirds were far too busy elsewhere.

 **THE _REDFOAM_**

"Ooo, what's this?"

"That's a catapult, Lattie. Ev'ry ship o' the Fleet carries at least one."

Latura clambered over the fastened-down war engine as if she were a woodland tyke playing on a log pile. "Ooo, neat! Can y' put sumpthin' in it an' give it a good fling? Wanna see how far it goes!"

Captain Trangle grinned sourly at his "mascot's" impetuous innocence. "Not t'day, Lattie. Not unless we encounter an enemy ship, or find savages on that isle we're headed for who need t' be put in their place. Doubt we'll run inta any of th' first - King Tratton's made sure there ain't no more enemy vessels competin' with us in our own waters - an' last I heard, the island I got in mind's inhabited by naught but fruit groves an' insecks!"

Latura plunked hersef down on the lashed arm of the catapult, pouting. "Never get t' have any fun 'round here!"

Trangle snorted. "Welcome t' my world, Lattie. Tho' if y' don't fancy havin' free run o' the _Redfoam_ no more, I can allers send y' back below an' slap ye in chains again with all yer friends down there."

"Oh no. Nonono. Like it up 'ere, seein' all there is t' see. Them chains hurt my wrists. 'Sides, it's pewey down there!"

"Yeah, it gets that way, when beasts're chained in place day 'n' night."

"Can Paltryrat come up? He'd like seein' th' sea too, I bet."

"I bet 'ee would. But fer th' fourteenth time, no, 'ee can't come up. Oarslaves gotta be kept in their place, or else discipline breaks down, an' it all goes t' pot."

Trangle felt safe in his continued denials of having Latura's fellow villager freed as well. So far, no further uncanny accidents or misfortune and befallen the crew since the ratmaid's own liberation from the rowing galley, and he'd found he could gently chastise or discipline her - and say no to her on any number of scores - without provoking any of her Seer's backlash. As long as he treated her as a stern father would, rather than a cruel and uncaring taskmaster - and as long as no physical harm was attempted against her - she was his pet prophet to profit from.

Which didn't mean there weren't times when he felt like throwing her overboard himself.

"But y' let me up," Latura continued to wheedle. "Does that mean I'm speeshul?"

"Oh, ye're speeshul a'right, Lattie. No denyin' that."

"He's got my dress, y' know."

"What?"

"That dress 'ee's wearin', all peachy 'n' poofy. Used ta be real nice, 'til them badred squirrlies stole us from Redwall. Now it's all dirty 'n' torn, an' half cut away. Wish I had it back. T'were th' nicest thing anybeast ever gave me."

"Well, it's just rags now. Ain'tcher happy with this fine new shirt I got fer ye? One o' th' best aboard, at least in yer size. Now y' look like a proper part o' the crew!"

Latura picked absently at her nautical style tunic, which almost fit her well. "'Tis nice, I s'pose."

From the crow's nest high above came an enthusiastic shout.

"Land ho! Land ho!"

Trangle's grin underneath his distinctive tricorn hat turned from sour to toothily satisfied. "Now that's more like it! 'Bout time we found this fur-sodden place!'

First Mate Laverty, standing at his captain's side, asked, "Are y' sure it's th' right one, Cap'n sir?"

"It's gotta be, Lavs. We bore far 'nuff south by th' stars t' hit just th' one we want, an' avoid th' ones we don't. But stay sharp fer any other sails, 'specially th' red, black 'n' green. We don't want anyrat else interruptin' us, or spyin' out what we're doin'. An' speakin' of spies, keep all eyes peeled fer any fleetrunners that may be lurkin' about; much as I wanted t' sight one after we left Salamandastron, right now they're th' last boat I wanna run inta!"

Trangle's bosun Gabbert, also hovering nearby, seemed less than pleased and somewhat puzzled by his captain's choice. "Why ain't we goin' to the market isle, where we c'n just barter fer fruit that's already been picked? Why're we goin' to an uninhabited isle where we'll hafta brave th' wilds t' gather it ourselves?"

"Brave th' wilds?" Trangle repeated derisively. "Y make it sound like climbin' a few trees an' hookin' loose a few melons is like a jungle safari! It'll be an easier detail than many this crew's known - in fact, I envy th' team who gets t' go ashore on this warm an' idyllic isle, 'cos it'll be like shore leave on an island paradise! But, t' answer yer question, we ain't stopped any trader vessel nor collected any tribute since pullin' out from Urthblood's mountain, so we got low stocks t' barter with. More important, Jagtar told us t' go right to Talaga after he left us, an' then t' Terramort to - " He eyed the oblivious Latura, footpaws dangling carefree from the catapult boom. "T' take care o' what we gotta take care o' there. Now, he was headed east t' Salam'dastron with King Tratton, an' we've come about as far south an' west as Tratton's Empire goes, but even tho' we may be at opposite ends of the realm, I don't trust Uroza's fleetrunner spies not t' talk 'tween themselves, or for any other ship o' the Fleet who happens t' see us in these waters not t' go tattlin' about it later on. Now, I'm cap'n exercisin' cap'n's pree-roggertive, an' I got some leeway t' do as I see fit with my own ship, but taking liberties with a direct order from a spyrat escortin' His Royal Highness 'imself, well, that ain't sumpthin' I'm gonna go flyin' a flag about. But we don't get t' these waters too often, an' I wasn't gonna pass up this oppertunitee. So we'll put in nice 'n' quiet an' unobserved while norat's watchin', get ourselves enuff o' them sweet tasty succulent melonfruits t' last us all season, an' still get t' Talaga in good time t' carry out our orders with norat bein' the wiser. 'Sides, with that stiff-britches Jagtar forbidding th' crew from disembarkin' on Talaga, 'tis only fair I make it up to 'em with a day or two at a tropical paradise that'll make 'em ferget all about Talaga!"

Gabbert grinned. "Good thinkin' there, Cap'n. Guess that's why ye're Cap'n, Cap'n!"

"Aye, that's why I am." Trangle turned his attention from where he stood amidships to the forward bow. Their island destination still lay too far distant to be seen from down here on deck, but already the sea air was warmer than before, with a clinging, sultry quality to the languid breezes suggesting a far different climate than the one where Tratton's ships more commonly plied.

Latura too picked up on this atmospheric transition. "Wet air's real icky - makes my fur all sticky. Gotta watch out, or it'll make th' bread moldy too!"

Trangle favored her with an evil grin of reassurance. "Don't you worry 'bout _that_ , Lattie. Any of our bread gets moldy, you'll not hafta chow down any of it. We'll save it all fer the oarslaves down below!"

 **THE ISLE OF MELONS AND INSECKS**

The unnamed island turned out to be far from the tropical paradise Trangle had all but promised his crew. For one thing, it was hardly tropical, occupying latitudes not much farther south than Talaga itself - as indeed it couldn't, to fit with Trangle's plans of making this a brief side trip before moving on. And as for it being any manner of paradise ...

Bosun Gabbert led the latest shorebound party out of the beached landing skiff and up onto the turgid shore, footpaws sinking in pungent muck that couldn't decide whether it wanted to be sand or mud.

One of his companions, a rat named Dittmar, wrinkled his snout at the stench. "Yuck! Did a smack o' jellyfish wash up an' die here?"

Gabbert shook his head. "Nay, that's brimstone stink, risin' up from th' sand itself. Must be a bog somewhere nearabouts that drains out onta this beach."

"Ugh. Loverly. Bogberries can be fine 'n' tasty, but t'ain't 'xactly what we had in mind - or what Cap'n Trangle sent us ashore fer. So, where're these melon trees s'posed t' be about? Or was that all hot air 'n' bluster too?"

Gabbert poked the complaining Dittmar in the belly with his cutlass. "You jus' let Cap'n Trangle hear you sayin' he's full o' hot air an' bluster, an' we'll see how quick you become fish bait. 'Course Cap'n's been here afore, an' our First Mate too, tho' may've been in their younger seasons. That's how he knew about it. Altho' ... " Gabbert gazed about him dispiritedly. "Things may've changed here a bit since their last visit."

A second crewrat by the name of Lartaud slapped at a stringing insect on his neck. "C'n we go back to th' ship? At least th' _Redfoam_ 's anchored far 'nuff offshore that this stink ain't reachin' her - nor any o' these bloodsuckers neither. Rather have fresh ocean breezes filln' my nostrils than this ... and I'll need a good few buckets o' clear seawater t' wash me footpaws clean after this!"

"Mebbe we just hit upon a bum landin' spot?" a third rat, the scrawny and fidgety Mithermay, ventured without much confidence.

The bulkier Dittmar quickly shot down this thin hope. "Heard from th' first two landin' parties that the sites they tried east an' west o' here were just as smelly, an' just as mucky. We'd hafta sail clear around this isle to see if there's any bay on it not quite so disgustin', tho' I'm guessin' there ain't."

"Maybe it gets better inland?" Mithermay suggested, wringing his paws and refusing to accept that their entire promised shore leave could be as bad as what had greeted them here.

"Oh sure. Let's go find that bog our bosun 'ere says must empty itself out here. That'd be worlds better."

Tired of this bellyaching, Gabbert decided then and there to invoke his scant authority. "Bog or no bog, inland's where we're headed. First two parties didn't find th' melons Cap'n wants, so now it's up to us. Now, I ain't likin' this detail any more'n any o' you, so if we're all agreed this ain't noplace we wanna be, let's get this over with so we c'n get back to th' _Redfoam_ soon's we can!"

Swallowing their gorge along with their further complaints, their company struck out toward the island's interior. They at least showed the good sense to stick together and tread cautiously, which helped them avoid swampy morasses and patches of treacherous quicksand which would surely have claimed less wary and professional vermin. And all the while, with nearly every step came the slap and smack of flattened paws against furred flesh as the isle's voracious insect population, led by mosquitoes and biting flies, mounted a merciless, incessant assault upon head, neck, ear, arm, leg, tail and any other exposed part of their bodies.

"Gah! This's horrible!" Dittmar exploded. "They're even worse here than on th' beach! We might's well turn back now, 'cos even if we do find a grove o' them melons Cap'n wants, we won't be able t' collect 'em without losin' all our blood an' gettin' sucked dry!"

Gabbert was inwardly ready to agree, but dedication to Trangle won out. "We'll scout on just a liddle bit further, circle 'round by a diff'rent way back to th' beach, an' then we'll be able t' tell th' Cap'n we gave it our all. He'll not be able t' gainsay or castergate us if'n we c'n look 'im in the eye an' tell 'im that true, so that's what we'll do."

If their grudgingly-agreed upon strategy was to give them cover for when they returned to the _Redfoam_ empty-pawed, they stumbled by sheer providence upon the very treasure they sought: a stand of the elusive melon trees, their pale green fruit hanging under the frondlike leaves like giant, hardshelled grapes, ripe for the taking.

"Well, ain't that sumpthin'," Dittmar remarked. "Jus' what we was lookin' fer, right here after all, an' th bugs ain't even as bad here neither."

"Too bad they're growin' all th' way up there," Lartaud lamented, gazing up. "Why couldn't th' Cap'n favor melons that grow on th' ground 'stead o' ones that grow up in trees?"

"Would _you_ wanna handle anything that's been lyin' on th' ground in this place?" Dittmar pointed out. "Prob'ly rot on th' vine 'fore they ever got ripe 'nuff fer eatin'. Bigger concern is, will we even be able t' find this place agin?"

"We'll mark our trail real careful on our way back," declared Gabbert. "Make it so that any fool with half a good eye can foller it. Then we'll head back here on th' morrow with poles an' ladders an' baskets, an' gather up more o' these melons than Cap'n Trangle ever coulda hoped for. An' this time, we'll be sure t' wear heavier clothing that covers us more all over, an' leaves less exposed fur where these nuisances c'n get at us.. Might not be comf'terble workin' in this heat that way, but it beats gettin' bit half t' death!"

Lartaud offered, "I heard th' cook once say 'ee knew of a mix a beast could smear all over itself that'd hold bitin' insecks at bay, keep 'em clear away."

"Well, why didn't y' tell us 'bout that 'fore we left th' ship?" Dittmar spat.

"Didn't think it'd be this bad, Ditts. 'Sides, Cookie said it also smelled sumpthin' awful."

"Well, that'd fit right in ... "

"I'll put up with a liddle pong if it keeps these biters away," Gabbert said, slapping at both ears as they all started back toward the beach. "Whatever gets us off this cesspool of an island an' headed off to Talaga all th' quicker is fine by me!"


	12. Chapter XI

**XI.**

 **THE _DARKTIDE_**

"So, you truly did not know Urthblood had left Salamandastron, Erzath?"

"Um, nay, Yer Majesty. When that badger doesn't want somebeast t' know somethin', he an' his fanatics make sure it stays unknown. Seen it any number o' time since takin' this assignment. They'll bottle me up an' cut me off from whole sections of that mountain, cordonin' off corridors an' passages with armed guards an' escortin' me around so tightly that I can barely draw a breath without their say so. Goes without sayin', Yer Highness, 'tis proven a hindrance in carryin' out all the duties you expect of me. I do what I can, but that badger sees to it that there's a while lot more I can't do."

Erzath sat with Tratton in the Searat King's private meeting cabin aboard the _Darktide_ for this hastily-convened debriefing. Joining them were Talarek, whose presence loomed large in suggesting that Tratton's personal security figured heavily in this unexpected, unannounced visit by the sea lord to the heart of his mortal enemy's domain, and the two fleetrunner captains Jagtar and Rotax, whose presence hinted at aspects to this mystery mission far beyond the merely diplomatic. The five of them now shared the undersized conference table, but it was Erzath who sat directly across from Tratton, squarely in the sights of his inquiring master.

"And you can only guess at how long he's been gone? How many days since he left?"

"Aye, Yer Majesty. When those otter ships started arrivin', they cut me off from sev'ral whole levels of th' mountain, includin' the dining hall. Then, after that, somethin' else was goin' on, an' they've been keepin' me away from ev'ry chamber an' passage with a view to the outside. Didn't want me seein' sea or shore or sky t'all - only those accursed rock walls surroundin' me on all sides, day 'n' night."

"And how many days has that been, Ambassador?"

"Hard to say, Yer Majesty. At least two or three, mebbe four. Kinda tough t' mark th' passage of days when ye're not allowed t' see daylight."

Jagtar spoke at this point. "Captain Trangle made no mention of Urthblood leaving Salamandastron while the _Redfoam_ was there, and he surely would have reported that before all else. This strongly suggests a rather small window. Urthblood cannot be more than two or three days out. Perhaps it is not too late to overtake or intercept him - if that fits with your plans in any way at all, Sire."

"Overtake him? And what would we do then? We don't even have any stormpowder aboard. That badger fights like a demon; even minus a paw, he'd still be a match for any ten of Kirkirt's crewrats. And he would have brought a contingent of his fighters with him, you can be sure of that - maybe enough of the Gawtrybe to cut down any force we could throw against them on short notice, and perhaps others as well. It would not be any sea battle I'd relish."

"We could call in other ships of the Fleet ... "

"You command a fleetrunner, Jagtar. You know the limits of even those speediest of craft. To search out and flag down additional ships, and coordinate a joint offensive against Urthblood at sea, would take many days - days longer than it will take him to reach Southsward. We will never overtake him before he reaches his destination ... especially if he finds the Roaringburn, which he almost surely will."

"Does he even know about the Roaringburn?" Erzath asked, wildly surprised at such a notion.

"I spent time at sea with him, remember? Believe me, he knows of the Roaringburn, as will any sea captain worth his salt that Urthblood's chosen to sail with. And with his gulls, he'll know of any pursuit long before it reaches him. No, once again he has outmaneuvered me. We will not stop him from reaching Southsward, if that is his destination."

"But what of Korba's mission?" asked Rotax. "We already have a presence in Southsward - two warships, anchored just off the coast."

"And won't they be surprised when Urthblood docks alongside them," Tratton snorted. "As of this moment, we don't even know whether Korba still lives - only that his delegation struck up the river to Floret, and have yet to return. If they ever will."

"If Southsward is overwhelmingly hostile to outsiders in general," Jagtar put forth, "it may be that Urthblood will meet with no greater success in his diplomatic overtures there than Korba."

"At least we've got a good head start there, eh?" Erzath offered hopefully. "I mean, if Korba's party arrived that much ahead of Urthblood's, he's had that much more time t' bend th' squirrel king's ear an' advance our own proposals, right? For all we know, Urthblood could get there only t' find we've already signed a treaty with Southsward, leavin' him out in th' cold." The rat Ambassador had not even known of Korba's secret mission before this day - but, far from feeling slighted by this exclusion from Tratton's diplomatic maneuverings, Erzath gave silent thanks for his ignorance, since it meant Tratton couldn't possibly suspect him of inadvertently revealing Korba's purpose to Urthblood.

"That may be an overoptimistic hope, Ambassador," Tratton said. "But in the end, whether Korba meets with success or failure - or whether Urthblood does either - lies beyond our own scope at the moment. There's nothing we can do about either. So, given that, I see no reason not to proceed here as originally intended."

Talarek and the two spyrats all blanched at this announcement. "Sire," the head guard protested, "surely that ... may not be wise? What we have discussed here changes everything, doesn't it?"

"I must concur, Your Majesty," seconded Jagtar. "Urthblood's departure from Salamandastron introduces too much uncertainty into the situation. We can't even know whether he truly makes for Southsward at all; perhaps he only arranged things so that we would reach that conclusion. This could be a trap; he could be lying in wait to ambush you along your route. Perhaps he did foresee your arrival after all, and has orchestrated an elaborate ruse to draw you in and put you off guard."

"That Urthblood may have foreseen my arrival I would not discount at all; indeed, I am rather surprised by his squirrel captain's insistence that this was not so. But if Urthblood had thought to trap me, he would not have to pretend to be away to do so. On the contrary, I just gave him the perfect opportunity to do so, when I walked right into Salamandastron with a token guard he and his forces could easily have overcome. He could have killed or captured us all, had his gulls fire the _Darktide_ and, if he succeeded in destroying both fleetrunners as well, swept the whole thing under the rug, covered it all up and denied to the wider world that I had ever in fact arrived at his mountain. He could have claimed I was lost at sea, and never made it here. But he has done no such thing - which leaves me to conclude there is no trap. I truly do believe he left Salamandastron - quite likely without knowing I was on my way - and now hastens elsewhere on business of his own. Most probably, to Southsward to seek exactly the same alliance with Floret that I do."

Erzath, yet to be appraised of his sovereign's plans, looked on in confusion at this back-and-forth between Tratton and his sworn protectors. "Pardon me, Yer Majesty, but just what _did_ you come to Salamandastron for?"

"All in good time, Ambassador. I shall have to explain it all to that Gawtrybe captain anyway, so in the interests of not repeating myself unnecessarily, I will wait to tell both of you at the same time. In fact, I see nothing to be gained by delaying here further; we've covered all that needs discussion, and discussing it more will only tediously belabor the point. You have all made your concerns known, and they are duly noted. But it changes nothing. I still intend to do what I came here to do."

"It changes one thing, Majesty," Talarek begged to differ. "You'd sought Urthblood's leave to proceed with this. He is not here to give it. An' do you reckon that squirrel we've been treating with is in any position or has any standing to grant it in his stead?"

Tratton stood, signalling an end to their conference, at least as far as he was concerned. "That is what I mean to go find out right now."

 **SALAMANDASTRON**

Once again Tratton, Talarek and their protective retinue - this time joined by Erzath - came to the head of the jetty to meet with the waiting Gawtrybe.

"I am ready to meet with your captain again," Tratton told Poinsett.

"Inside, or out here?" the female squirrel asked.

"Inside, of course. With the same contingent as before. And Ambassador Erzath will be joining us for these discussions as well."

"Very well. Please follow me, Your Majesty."

And once again, the Gawtrybe defenders escorted the searats up into Salamandastron and along the twisting maze of passages until they arrived once more at the main dining hall, where the squirrels and rats resumed their former double-ringed defensive arrangement.

Matowick, alerted to the searats' return, already occupied his seat at one end of the side table. Pointedly not rising to greet Tratton, he gestured toward the opposite chair at the far end for the royal rat to seat himself. "Welcome back, Your Majesty. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Hesitating for the merest of scowling, affronted moments, Tratton took the offered seat, with Erzath settling in less confidently at his right paw. "Captain," the Searat King asked, "if I may be totally blunt, just how fully are you authorized to speak for Lord Urthblood in his absence?"

Matowick pondered this, clearly trying to anticipate where this might be going. "That would depend on what you would have of us, wouldn't it? If you're looking to work out a new treaty with us, or substantially amend the current one, I would strongly encourage you to return another time when Lord Urthblood is present to negotiate with you directly. For anything less major, you will find I have a great deal of latitude to speak on His Lordship's behalf."

"Well, that is good to hear. Very good indeed. And no, I am not here to reopen new avenues of diplomatic negotiations, or anything so vital or involved. My business at paw has no direct bearing on Salamandastron at all, in fact. I have stopped here first only in observance of diplomatic courtesy, to seek both Lord Urthblood's acknowledgment of my intentions, and perhaps his counsel and advice on how to best proceed. Pointers, if you will. Since he knows these lands and their woodlander inhabitants so much better than I do. I really don't see him being in any position to outright forbid or prohibit what I have in mind, but I deemed it best to clear it with him first - just for the sake of unambiguous mutual understanding, as I'm sure you would appreciate."

Matowick regarded Tratton curiously. "It's difficult for me to either understand or appreciate much of anything in this matter, Your Majesty, given how little I know of it now. Just what is it you propose?"

"It's very simple, really. With the Accord in place, and peace between us, I decided now would be a perfect time for me to see some of the lands which had always been closed to my kind."

Matowick wasn't sure what he'd expected the Searat King to say, but this certainly was not it. "See ... the lands?"

"Yes, Captain. Mossflower, specifically. With perhaps even a side trip to Redwall. I have heard such wonderful things about that Abbey. And what better opportunity will I or any Searat King have, under this golden age our Accord has ushered in?"

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, that Accord was worked out between you and Lord Urthblood, not between you and Redwall, or any other residents or representatives of Mossflower. We cannot speak for them."

"Are you implying we might not be welcome in Mossflower?"

"Frankly, Your Majesty, yes, that is exactly what I am implying."

"I was given to understand that Lord Urthblood exerted considerable authority and influence over the lands - that they did, in fact, look to him as their de facto leader in such matters. Was I mistaken in this? Surely there has not been ... " And here Tratton paused most tellingly. "Strife or conflict between Salamandastron and Mossflower?"

Matowick's tone and manner became grimmer in spite of himself. "The creatures of the inner lands see to their affairs as it suits them, and we see to ours. We have gone to much effort to fulfill our end of the Accord; your concern should be only that we have met the terms of our agreement with you to your satisfaction ... and I trust we have given you little cause for dissatisfaction."

"Hmmm. Still, I would hate to think that Lord Urthblood and Redwall might have come to blows over your efforts to satisfy _me_."

"Come to blows? Your Majesty, where do you come by such ridiculously inaccurate innuendo and inference?"

"Oh, I have my sources - and it's not the Ambassador here, in case you're wondering. You've done a masterful job of keeping him in the dark, from what he tells me. But glad I am to know I am mistaken in such assumptions. It would be terrible to think of Lord Urthblood and Redwall at each other's throats."

Matowick stared at Tratton. "Yes. Yes, it would. I don't know why you'd even want to go to Redwall. Are you aware that many of the former slaves you freed under the Accord have settled there? I hardly think they'd be happy to see you again."

"Oh, I'm sure the Abbot or Abbess will be able to keep them in line for the brief duration of any visit I might make - along with any other residents of Redwall who might take exception to my presence. Might you happen to know of any of those, Captain?"

"If you speak of the Long Patrol, I can't imagine they'd be any happier to see you than your former slaves. They are a military force, and by some accounts not under the complete control of Redwall's leadership. It wouldn't surprise me if one of them - or perhaps more than one - given the opportunity to assassinate the King of the Searats they've come to despise, might take it upon themselves to try to do just that."

"You make it sound like I would be safer here than at Redwall."

"Considerably safer. You signed your peace with us, not with them. They would not be beholden to the Accord - and we would have no way to force compliance with the Accord upon them. You'd be placing yourself wholly at their mercy ... and inside those walls, we could not guarantee your safety."

"I actually did not mean the Long Patrol - although your thoughts on them will give me further cause for consideration. No, I was thinking more of my fellow rats, or my woodland cousins, to be more precise. Redwall is known far and wide as a haven and sanctuary for those in need of such, and I imagine not all of Mossflower's rats are giving themselves over willingly to your custody for resettlement. Surely at least some have found their way to that Abbey, beyond your reach - unless you've gone in and forcibly removed them? I can't see either scenario working out well in terms of relations between Redwall and Salamandastron."

"It's possible that some rats may have made it to Redwall ahead of our ability to detain them. I wouldn't know, since the defense of Salamandastron remains my chief concern. But if true, I am sure our Gawtrybe representatives on the scene are continuing to work with the Abbey leaders to resolve the situation. We must do all we can to satisfy the provisions of the Accord, after all."

"Ah yes. The Accord. And, by keeping any of the land rats inside their walls and refusing to relinquish them, Redwall would in effect stand in violation of the Accord. Then again, they were never signatories to that treaty, so perhaps they cannot be held to it - even if their actions place _you_ in violation of the Accord. Yes, a tricky situation indeed. Perhaps this is all the more reason for me to go there myself, to assess matters on my own and see whether I might be able to rectify this issue to my own satisfaction. After all, we wouldn't want anybeast to stand in violation of the Accord, now would we?"

Matowick almost winced at Tratton's use of the phrase "in violation of the Accord" three times in such quick succession - especially since the Searat King had shown sufficient eloquence by now not to be so sloppy in his use of language, and especially since the provision surrendering the rats of the lands had been added by Urthblood, and Tratton had accepted that particular condition almost grudgingly. Clearly, some angle was being played here, some agenda pursued, some maneuvering underway, even if the aims and objectives remained murky.

"And just how do you imagine you might ... 'rectify' things, Your Majesty?"

"Perhaps I might be able to offer them something it never occurred to you to offer them."

The irony of the situation fully struck Matowick then. Earlier that season he'd ventured to Redwall under the guise of a false diplomatic overture proposing that a searat delegation be dispatched to the Abbey - an episode Tratton couldn't possible know about, and which Matowick was hardly about to divulge - and yet here sat the Searat King himself, echoing the very thing that Lord Urthblood had supplied Matowick with as his cover story.

"Offer them something? Your Majesty, are you proposing a full diplomatic mission to Redwall?"

"Such had not been my intent, but depending on where circumstance lead, I am open to all possibilities."

"What do you imagine you could even offer them that would be of the remotest interest to them? You are the lord of the seas beyond these western shores, and they occupy the innermost parts of the lands, as far removed from your sphere of influence as geographically possible. You have absolutely nothing in common - no shared interests at all."

"It appears we have rats in common. But, if all is as you say, then our talks should be brief, and my visit there short."

"Your Majesty, I am not sure this can be allowed."

Tratton's face darkened. "Lord Urthblood is allowed to go where he will - even down to Southsward - but I am not?"

"Lord Urthblood stays to the lands, and deals with the creatures of the lands. Your province lies elsewhere, and I fear you would be venturing in where you would not be welcome. You signed a peace treaty only with us, not with the Northlands or Mossflower or Southsward. Therefore, they would not have to observe any peace with you, and would be within their rights to attack you on sight."

"By that same token, if they were not part of any negotiations between Terramort and Salamandastron, then Lord Urthblood has no place forbidding me from going there and dealing with them directly, if I may. Such affairs would be between me and them, to conduct as I see fit."

"You must not forget, Your Majesty, that the Badger Lords of Salamandastron have long stood as the traditional protectors of all the lands against incursions from the sea. Even in his treating with you, Lord Urthblood has not abdicated his sworn responsibility in this area. In that sense, any intention on your part to undertake a journey which might impact the inner lands must by necessity fall under our jurisdiction. What if we do allow you to go, and you are attacked? Would that spark a war between you and Mossflower? Would it abrogate the Accord itself and renew the war between Salamandastron and Terramort? I can see the course you propose being fraught with peril, and for that reason if no other, I am not certain we can allow it."

"But that is not your decision to make, Captain, is it?"

"Lord Urthblood left me in command of this mountain in his absence. It's as much my decision to make as anybeast's. Your Majesty."

"You do realize, Captain, I only stopped by here as a courtesy. I could just as easily have bypassed you altogether and sailed up the Moss, or around to the Eastern Sea and struck out for Mossflower from that direction."

"Yes, you could have. And there wouldn't have been a thing we could do to stop you. Which makes me wonder why you bothered coming here first at all."

Tratton sat in silence for some moments. "I would like to confer with Lord Urthblood on this directly, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. You're more than welcome to come back to Salamandastron after he's returned ... although I have no clear idea when that might be."

"I have no intention of going anywhere in the immediate future, Captain, except for Mossflower, and I will be leaving for there in the next day or two. Now, since we both know you'll be dispatching a gull to inform Lord Urthblood of my presence here and my stated aims, it would be little extra trouble for you to include in your message that I expect a reply from him - but I will wait only so long for his answer. Otherwise, I will proceed as I see fit, with or without his leave - or yours."

Matowick chewed over this unexpected ultimatum, clearly designed to push the boundaries of just how much authority the Gawtrybe commander truly held here. "Yes," he said at last, "yes, I suppose we could do as you suggest, Your Majesty. But what if his answer is no?"

"Then I will wait to hear from him directly." Tratton reached into his tunic and withdrew a folded sheet of parchment. Talarek came forward and took the letter to walk it down to Matowick. "I took the liberty, once I learned Lord Urthblood was not currently at Salamandastron, to compose a brief synopsis of what I would have told him had he been here, and laying out the main points of my proposed travel plans. It is only proper that he hear what I have to say directly from me, in my own words."

Matowick accepted the parchment from Talarek with some measure of reluctance, perhaps realizing his options were dwindling. "I will see that this is sent at once. Pity you folded it, though."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Because scrolls are easier for our birds to carry."

"Then I suppose you will have to flatten it out and roll it."

"Yes, I suppose I shall. You are welcome to stay in Salamandastron until the reply is received, Your Majesty. Our bedchambers may not be as fancy as what you are accustomed to, but we can only give you our best. You will, of course, have no shortage of attentive attendants to see to your every need."

"No doubt I would. Thank you for the offer, Captain, but I will remain out on the _Darktide_. My cabin there suits my needs just fine. You can summon me again when you receive Lord Urthblood's response. I trust it will not take too very long."

"It will take as long as it takes. Our messenger will need to locate His Lordship, and then deliver your message - and then Lord Urthblood may need to consider the situation fully before composing his reply. I can easily see it taking a day or two - perhaps longer."

"Very well. Hopefully no longer than that, since I fully intend to be on my way while the ease of summer travelling holds sway over the countryside. An extended, intensive tour of the inner lands can easily take a season or more, I imagine."

"It can, depending on just how many different areas you wish to see, how long you plan to tarry at each, and how quickly you travel. Have you, um, ever actually been on any long marches, Your Majesty?"

"This will be my first to this extent. But rest assured, I keep myself in peak physical condition to meet the demands of my position. If that's what you were inferring ... "

"Fighting trim is one thing. But you are a creature of the seas, and this is a protracted land march we are talking about now. And there is a big difference between sea legs and land legs, or so I've always heard."

"I know the difference, Captain. I may have spent much of the first half of my life aboard ships, but I have spent most of my recent seasons overseeing affairs on Terramort, and my other islands. You'll find my land legs as practiced as my sea legs."

"Hmm. But do your island administrative duties afford you any opportunity for practice marches between regions? I mean no affront to your no doubt impressive physical stamina and obvious trim and tone, but I would hate for you to get just partway into your journey only to discover you're unable to press on. And I would spare you the ignominy of having to dispatch a rescue party from Salamandastron to retrieve you back to the coastlands."

Erzarth was practically writhing and foaming at the mouth with suppressed outrage over these bald insinuations as to his sovereign's fitness, while Talarek, returned now to his place amongst his Royal Guard, held his own tongue with considerably more outward composure. But Tratton merely smiled placatingly, refusing as ever to be goaded. "Then we'll just have to wait and see whether my confidence is misplaced or not."

"Assuming Lord Urthblood grants you permission to proceed."

"Yes. Assuming that. Although if he thinks to deny me, he had best state his justifications most clearly and to my satisfaction ... and even then, I would likely return to Salamandastron some other time when he is here, to demand a more thorough accounting of his reasoning in this."

"That is of course your choice, Your Majesty. But for now, let me dispatch your request to him, and then we may see what his answer is."

For the second time, Searat King and Gawtrybe Captain made their parting of the ways in the dining hall, Matowick standing fast as Tratton and his party were escorted back out of the mountain to the waiting _Darktide_. As before, Ambassador Erzath accompanied the departing rats, no doubt for further consultation and debriefing with his master.

And while every squirrel of the shorefront contingent - and a good few of Salamandastron's other onlooking defenders - watched Tratton go up into the galleon, none saw him sneak off once night fully fell and board one of the fleetrunners to take his sleep in the speedy getaway craft which would be much harder for the gulls to target ... just in case Urthblood or his commanders proved less trustworthy hosts than they pretended to be.


	13. Chapter XII

**XII.**

 **SALAMANDASTRON**

"Are you sure you want to leave this to a gull, Captain?"

Matowick stood before Lornbill and Altidor up on the plateau, where he'd proceeded in the wake of his second meeting with Tratton, once he'd collected his thoughts, read Tratton's letter to Urthblood and composed his own accompanying dispatch to the Badger Lord, requesting advice and instruction. Now he found the great golden eagle second-guessing him ... and offering rather untactful insult to the new seagull captain as well.

"Who would you rather I use, Commodore? You? Captain Klystra, or Saugus, who's only just returned from Redwall and not entirely recovered from his injuries suffered during that expedition? We're not even sure of Lord Urthblood's exact position at the moment - only that he's somewhere off the coast somewhere to the south. This is a sea mission, and I feel it's best carried out by seabirds."

"I once flew all the way to Terramort and back - at a time when Tratton and Lord Urthblood were still technically at war," Altidor reminded Matowick. "I am not a complete stranger to open ocean missions."

"Terramort stayed in one place, and didn't drift upon the sea lanes, changing its location from one day to the next," Matowick countered. "Pinpointing a single sailing vessel in all the coastal waters between here and Southsward poses a far greater challenge, and one I feel a gull is better equipped to handle. If a gull grows tired during its search for the _Stronganchor_ , it can always land right upon the waters to rest, bobbing on the wavetops until ready to go on again."

If Altidor's bill could have smirked, it would have. "And where were you planning to tie the messages, Captain? Our message tubes are not watertight, and even Lord Urthblood would have difficulty deciphering dispatches streaked and blotted by submersion in seawater."

Matowick gave a scowl of annoyance. "Okay, then, so the gull would need to fly ashore to rest ... but so would you. So it still makes no difference, on that point."

"I would not need to land at all," the eagle boasted. "I can rest on the thermals."

"As can gulls," Lornbill argued, not to be outdone by the superior-minded raptor.

"I'm sorry, Commodore, but even if I accepted your assertion that you may be better suited to this mission than a gull, you're still too valuable to risk on a mere messenger run. You're Lord Urthblood's supreme bird commander, and a vital part of the command structure for both the winged and furred defenders here. And with Tratton himself docked at our pier, I'll need all officers on deck and ready to respond to anything the searats might try to pull."

"If the situation is as uncertain and fraught with peril as you say, then all the more crucial that no misunderstandings or miscommunications arise." Altidor shot a glance Lornbill's way. "You will need a courier well-spoken and able to express itself clearly."

"Hey! Whatyou imply?"

"You are most correct, Commodore - which is why I cannot leave this to a verbal delivery alone, by either gull _or_ eagle." Matowick held up the message tube. "I took my time wording my own dispatch to Lord Urthblood, making sure to cover every point of concern and fully explaining the situation to him. This must be done entirely in writing, leaving no room for error or misinterpretation. My message, and Tratton's, must be delivered to Lord Urthblood directly, and he must reply in kind, once he has given the matter adequate consideration and decided how he wants me to proceed."

"He may have additional questions," Altidor insisted. "Clarification that only a creature who was on site could verbally provide."

"He shouldn't. My dispatch is most thorough, and complements Tratton's quite completely. For all we know, he has already seen and is aware of Tratton's presence here - fur, he could already have sent a gull off to us from the _Stronganchor_ , instructing us on what he wants us to do. My message is just in case he hasn't. And diplomacy requires us to deliver Tratton's letter anyway, so ... "

Having exhausted his supply of objections, the prideful eagle stood back and watched Matowick secure the message cylinder to the leg of Lornbill's chosen courier. Moments later the gull was airborne, winging south and slightly out to sea in search of the _Stronganchor_.

Mattoon and Tillamook, not stopping to question the wisdom of having all the mountain's chief defenders gathered together in one spot, had followed Matowick up onto the plateau for the sending of this double dispatch. The Gawtrybe captain now took them aside.

"Mattoon, I'm naming you my official second-in-command. If anything should happen to me, command of Salamandastron is yours."

"Um, y' really think that's necessary, Matti? Never needed it afore ... "

"Never been times like this before. When Lord Urthblood's here, my role as captain of all the mountain's forces is more ceremonial than anything, with all of us looking to him for our ultimate orders. With him gone, and with Tratton visiting us now of all times, things are very different. There were any number of times during my two meetings with him that it occurred to me how much an assassination attempt on me would throw Salamandastron into disarray. That was the main reason I insisted the two of you not be present, but even so, we need to formalize the chain of succession. Just to set my own mind at ease if nothing else."

"So if you an' Mattoon both snuff it, that'll put me in charge, huh?" said Tillamook. "An' who's after me? Altidor?"

"Not sure how all our furred and spiked comrades would feel about taking their top orders from a bird. Think it's best that the Commodore stick with working in tandem with Lornbill's gulls. Normally Perri would hold a high spot in the chain of command, but with little Elberon to look after, she's out of the line. I'm sure we'll get it all worked out; it's just a precaution anyway."

They stood for some moments in silence, watching the messenger gull dwindle into the distance. "Whaddya think Lord Urthblood's gonna say in reply t' Tratton's request?" Mattoon speculated.

Matowick shook his head. "The way things have been going this season, I'm not even going to try to guess. But we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

 **THE _STRONGANCHOR_**

"Gotta admit, I kinda feel as useful as a second tail around here sometimes," Abellon confessed as he ducked to avoid a swinging yardarm on the deck of the _Stronganchor_.

Whiskersalt, walking the deck with the mouse captain, grinned at the landlubber rodent. "Never been at sea afore, 'ave ye?"

"At sea, no. My boating experience's limited to a few Broadstream excursions with Saybrook an' his otters. And while a couple of those whitewater jaunts may've left my fur a little grayer, I still don't know the difference between a bowspit and a jib boom."

"Harr! Well, we got both o' those on th' _Stronganchor_ , an' lots more 'sides! At least y' know some o' our jargon, even if y' don't know what it all means; some land passengers I've ferried over th' seasons've been a lost cause, even as far as that goes. An' at least yore showin' good sea legs, for a land mouse. Haven't seen y' toss yore stummick once this voyage, or even look green around the gills!"

"Naw, seasickness hasn't hasn't bothered me. Wish I could say the same for all my squad - a few of 'em were in rough shape the first day or two out, an' their appetites still haven't fully returned. I only hope they're not left so weakened by this trip that they won't be in fighting form if any fighting awaits us in Southsward."

"I'm shore they'll be fine. Great spirit, yore matey mice've got. An' as fer those Gawtrybe, they've taken to th' waves better'n any bushtailed treejumpers have any right to!"

"I'm not surprised. Their arboreal antics are enough to make any ground beast's head spin. Seen them do things that left my stomach somersaulting long after their acrobatics were done. I'd say a life leaping through swaying treetops and a life at sea aren't as different as you might think."

"Judgin' by th' way I've seen some of 'em scalin' our riggin's - an' just for th' fun of it, too! - I'd say ye might be right about that one, Cap'n. Must be a squirrel trait, 'cos our Redwall friend shows the same 'thusiasm for th' climbin' ropes!"

Abellon's face soured a bit at this mention of their fellow passenger. Being an Abbeybeast, Alexander had hardly seen fit to hunker down in his assigned cabin avoiding the presence of those he saw as adversaries, instead wandering the ship as it pleased him and taking meals with everybeast else and mingling with the rest wherever he cared to - which seemed to be most of the time, when he wasn't sleeping. And never did he shy away from verbal confrontation with Urthblood and the badger's soldiers wherever he went, so stubbornly convinced that he was right and the Northlanders were wrong, and that some great injustice bordering on a war crime had been committed against Redwall. It could be frustrating, maddening, provoking ... sometimes to the point where Abellon and Sergeant Witko had to restrain their mice and squirrels from taking Alex on with fists instead of words.

"Never should've let that Redwaller come along in the first place. He's far too divisive and disruptive a presence."

A hint of sternness entered Whiskersalt's always-bemused, always-grizzled grin. "Well, that was Cap'n Wakefern's call, wasn't it?" he reminded the mouse. "A ship's captain is lord o' his vessel, same as yore badger's lord o' his mountain. An' that ain't to be questioned, not if ye don't want anarchy 'n' chaos t' rule over all th' seas. T'would be as bad as just handin' it all over to th' searats an' corsair raiders!"

"That's fine for you; you seadogs and your crew get along fine with him. He's not accusing you of being criminals and murderers ev'ry time you come face t' face with him. He'll cause trouble for us once we get to Southsward, I just know it. If he goes with us to Castle Floret, as I'm sure he intends, and starts filling the ear of the Squirrel King there with the kind of poison he's been spewing ever since arriving at Salamandastron ... "

"I'm shore Lord Urthblood'll manage th' situation jus' fine. Allers does, don't 'ee?"

"The stakes are higher this time, friend. Prob'ly highest they've been since his negotiations with Tratton. We're opening up an entirely new diplomatic front here, with no way of knowing how receptive Floret will be to our overtures. Having Alexander along won't make things any easier, and if he jeopardizes these talks ... "

Whiskersalt sought to reassure the mouse captain. "Well, his bein' there at Salamandastron didn't scuttle our talks with Lord Urthblood, did it? Not even tho' he vented enuff spleen in my presence t' last me twelve seaons worth of ire. Sometimes y' just hafta grant that beasts get upset by th' diff'rences 'tween 'em, an' speak words y' might not wanna hold 'em to later. That Alex is still hot under th' collar over what happened at Redwall an' in th' Plains, an' I can't say he's wrong t' feel that way, given where he's comin' from. But if you 'n he're both good creatures at heart, ye'll come t' see yore diff'rences can't outweigh what ye've got in common."

Abellon shot the old otter a searching look. "Do you think Lord Urthblood's negotiations with _you_ will succeed? Do you think you'll agree to the alliance he seeks?"

"Well, that ain't my place t' say is it? Not mine alone. I can't even speak for all the western sea otter clans, much less all otterdom. When Lord Urthblood first announced 'ee meant t' sail an' asked us t' take 'im, I was shore he was gonna have us make fer th' Green Isle, 'cos the kind of alliance with us that he's got in mind won't be complete unless it begins an' ends there. That's why I was so surprised when 'ee had us strike out fer Southsward instead. Didn't think there'd be aught down that way that he'd hold as havin' higher importance than strikin' a deal with us seadogs."

"From what I gather, His Lordship's concerned the searats have been active down that way, gettin' up to some kind of mischief or other, and he wants to head it off before Tratton sinks his talons too fully into that region or causes trouble not easily undone."

"Aye, so I pieced t'gether meself. Two searat ships've been seen lyin' at anchor off th' coast there - a sighting yore master was most int'rested in hearin' all about, not that there's much we could tell 'im. These days, with Salamandastron 'n' Terramort at peace an' searats free t' pull inta any port they please, never can tell when they're someplace they're allowed t' be, an' when they're just up to their old usual trouble. Guess we'll find out when we get there."

"Neither of 'em was a dreadnought, was it? 'Cos that would likely mean a large-scale military incursion, and more trouble than this entire ship of us could handle on our own."

"Naw, t'were either frigates or galleons, or mebbe one o' each, not any o' those floatin' monsters o' Tratton's. Blight on th' seas, those monstrosities are."

Abellon gave a hard grin. "Well, Tratton's got six less of 'em than he'd have otherwise, thanks to the war we fought with 'im last winter 'n' spring. Losin' so much of his naval power in such a short time's surely what drove him to the bargainin' table, along with the threat of worse losses t' come, if he didn't parley with us in good faith. Things might not be perfect under the Accord, but at least we've pulled some of his teeth, an' left him weakened enough that he's not rampagin' unchecked across sea an' coast like he coulda been."

"Aye, 'tis true - an' prob'ly why Green Isle hasn't fallen to 'im yet. Not even Tratton'd wanna take on that bunch with anything less than ev'ry rat an' ev'ry ship in 'is fleet, an' even then that place'd prob'ly chew 'em up an' spit 'em out as fast as they could land. Wager it might be easier t' take Salamandastron itself."

"Not if Lord Urthblood has anything to say about it - an' his gulls too. So, how much longer 'til we reach Southsward ourselves, y' figger?"

Whiskersalt leaned against the port ship's rail, gazing east toward the coastlands which lay somewhere just below the horizon. "Oh, prob'ly t'morrow, way th' Roarin'burn's sweepin' us along. Or th' day after, at th' latest. There's certain signs we old salts know t' look for that'll tell us when t' duck outta this ripcurrent an' nose our way landward. You jus' leave it to me 'n' Wakers, we'll get ye where yore goin'!"

"Well, that is rather the idea, isn't it?" Abellon glanced up into the late afternoon sky, scanning it as he so often did for any sign of unusual activity amongst their seabird allies, and this time his searching gaze was rewarded with the sight of one gull flying lower and nearer than any of the others circling high overhead. "Hey, here comes a gull ... "

"Not too surprisin', consid'rin' how Lord Urthblood's had 'em escortin' us ever since we left Salamandastron."

"No, I mean this one's coming in." Abellon sprinted across the deck and sprang atop a large, closed hatch away from any of the sails or rigging, where the descending bird could set down without obstruction. Facing the gull and raising himself up on his pawtips, the mouse waved his arms up over his head in a signalling pattern all the Badger Lord's aerial servants were trained to recognize. Spotting him, the gull veered toward Abellon and fluttered to a landing on the hatch alongside him.

Even before the bird touched down, Abellon could see the message tube strapped to its leg. "What news from Captain Matowick?"

"Searats at mountain," the gull reported.

Abellon took a moment to process this, as Whiskersalt climbed up to join them on the hatch and several others of the crew and fighters gathered around to hear. The presence of searats at Salamandastron, in and of itself, was nothing remarkable these days, and certainly nothing to inspire Matowick to dispatch a messenger all this way to report; something more must be going on. "Is the mountain under attack?" he asked, realizing how improbable these words sounded in his ears even as he spoke them.

"No attack."

"Well, what then?"

The gull thrust forth its leg bearing the message cylinder. "Read for selves. Words for Lord Urthblood. Take to him, then I carry back reply. Not supposed to say more."

"Hmph." Abellon reached forward and removed the tube from the bird's leg. He was almost tempted to uncap it and unroll the message to read it right then and there, but the phrase "words for Lord Urthblood" echoed in his head, and he thought better of it. Turning to hop down from the raised hatch housing, he said, "I'd best take this right to His Lordship, so he can see what this is all about. If Matti's waiting on a reply, we'd best not keep him waiting!"

00000000000

"Ye ain't seriously consid'rin' it, are ye, Lord?"

Urthblood gazed across the cabin table at Whiskersalt. "I see no reason to deny him his request, Captain. Or perhaps I should say that, while there might be reason, there are no solid grounds to do so. The Accord implies such freedom of movement, if only by not expressly forbidding it. Salamandastron and Terramort are officially at peace, and so long as Tratton makes no overtly hostile move and betrays no belligerent intent, I cannot prevent him from wandering wherever in the lands he wishes to go."

Their impromptu meeting had been convened in Captain Wakefern's cabin, the only quarters aboard the _Stronganchor_ spacious enough to accommodate any manner of conference. Joining the Badger Lord and the two otter captains were Abellon and the Gawtrybe Sergeant Witko, the five of them now gathered about the table scarcely big enough to seat them all.

Alexander, having been belowdecks when the messenger gull arrived, had pointedly been informed of neither the bird's presence nor of this strategy meeting.

"Aye, but what if 'ee's up to somethin'?" Wakefern worried.

Abellon snorted. "This is Tratton. He's _always_ up to something."

"I see no great harm that can come of this," Urthblood stated. "From what Captain Matowick describes, Tratton has brought no invasion force with him, so my home mountain cannot be in jeopardy. And we've long known the searats have had spies abroad in the lands, so I see little Tratton might stand to learn of strategic value that he could not just as easily learn through other eyes and ears. Indeed, I would say he places himself in far greater jeopardy in this than any he could possibly pose to us, or the good creatures of Mossflower. But, ultimately, that is his decision to make, not mine."

"He'll not embark on such a land journey without a large contingent of armed guards and soldiers," assessed Witko. "He'll insist on it, in fact - just as you brought along a score of Gawtrybe and Captain Abellon's entire brigade for this expedition, Lord."

"That's different, Sergeant. We are entering a region where Tratton may have gone first in hopes of shutting us out, and his representatives in Southsward may prove most reluctant to yield any ground they have gained, or to let us enter the game at all. An intimidating armed presence on our part might prove essential to bluff our way in these diplomatic proceedings - and to perhaps do more than bluff, if the searats demonstrate a greater level of resistance than I likely foresee."

"Still," Abellon weighed in, "it'll mean a miniature searat army tromping around Mossflower, getting up to who knows what mischief?"

"In case you had forgotten, Captain, my own presence in Mossflower now exceeds anything Tratton could hope to insert into that region. Their company will be seen from Foxguard as it crosses open territory, and monitored by the Gawtrybe and Captain Choock's shrews once they enter the wooded areas. And the Redwallers themselves also stand vigilant over their Abbey and its immediate surroundings. Tratton's party will hardly be left to their own devices or free to do as they will on this proposed trek of his."

"Beggin' your pardon, Lord," Witko interjected, "but most of our forces in Mossflower might not be free for such added security detail. The Gawtrybe are split between their sweeps and establishing Gawdrey, and by all reports Choock's got his paws quite full with the resettlement efforts as well. And Foxguard lies on the other side of the River Moss from where Tratton's likely going. Seems to me we might not have as many resources to spare for this as you seem to think."

"It could be that our resettlement campaign is precisely one of the things Tratton wants to observe firstpaw, Sergeant, in which case he need only be assigned a few minders while events otherwise proceed as they are. But no matter; if security is a concern, we will send out an escort from Salamandastron to match his own numbers. That will ensure his good behavior from the time he leaves the coastlands until his return."

"But, what if he wants to take a hundred rats with him?" Abellon countered. "Or two hundred? We were down to just a hundred Gawtrybe left at Salamandastron, and a score of those are with us now, along with my entire mouse brigade. Might this not be a ploy to empty the mountain of nearly all defenders, leaving it open and vulnerable to assault?"

"I would of course not allow that to happen, Captain. Tratton's own escort of searats would have to be limited to manageable levels. I will make sure to include such details in my reply to Captain Matowick."

"Still, Lord," the mouse pressed, "are you sure this is wise? In light of ... well, what you saw the other day?"

Urthblood seemed genuinely puzzled by this statement. "By what I saw, Captain?"

"Yes. At the starboard railing, looking out to sea. You said you saw a storm coming from Terramort."

"I said no such thing, Captain. I saw wicked weather far to the west out over the open ocean, but so far that storm has remained well away from us, and we have enjoyed clear sailing, as our otter hosts assure me they foresee for the remainder of our voyage. I saw nothing regarding any threat from Terramort."

"But ... I saw no ... " Abellon stammered in confusion.

"And since I see no threat coming our way from Terramort, there cannot be one. I truly believe Tratton's proposition to be as innocent as he makes it sound. I cannot discern all of his motives behind this proposal of his, or what he ultimately hopes to achieve or prove by it, but it can hold neither malice nor catastrophe for us or the lands. If it did, I would see it."

"Even if that be true," said Wakefern, "I'm still far from thrilled by the idea o' that seascum stumpin' its way through Mossflower, subjectin' peaceable an' decent folk to their presence."

"Mossflower has known worse. Cluny, Malkariss, Gulo the Cannibal ... I do not see Tratton's party posing any threat, hardship or offense of that magnitude. Woodlanders who find his presence distasteful can hold their noses and wait for him to pass. My concern lies with the security of the lands, and I can in no way see this as threatening that security."

"And what of their own safety?" asked Abellon. "We know some of the Mossflower locals are heavily armed and territorial. They could provoke violence even if Tratton doesn't."

"All the more reason for us to match his guards with troops of our own. They will be on paw as much to safeguard the searats as to make sure Tratton's company complies with the rules of common decency."

Witko drummed his paw against his leg under the table. "So, you'll be sending word back to Captain Matowick granting permission for Tratton to proceed, Lord?"

"I see no reason not to. Within the prescribed parameters we have discussed here, of course - along with perhaps an additional suggestion or two of my own. I will think on this a while before composing my reply, so that no room is left for ambiguity or misunderstanding. After all, if Captain Matowick clearly put so much thought into his message to us, I can do no less, can I?"

As the meeting broke up, with all five participants exiting the cabin to head off each his own way, Abellon stuck close to his master's side. "Lord, did you ... see Tratton coming to Salamandastron like this, and making such a request?"

"No, Captain, I did not."

"Well, doesn't that ... concern you at all?"

"Not especially. As you well know, my prophetic sight is far from absolute. Many minor things remain hidden to me, just as they do to ordinary creatures, until revealed through the ordinary course of events. And that which eludes my foresight is typically of little consequence."

"All due respect, Lord, but Doublegate was of more than a little consequence, an' you didn't know about that until after it was burning."

"The exception that proves the rule, Captain. But I am confident that if Tratton harbored schemes which would result in calamity on that scale, I would know it. I believe his present course to be harmless, so I will allow it."

Abellon chewed this over in silence, mentally gnawing on a great storm at sea that only the Badger Lord could see, and this most surprising development from the searat realm that he did not. "An' what of Alexander? He'll not be thrilled by the idea of Tratton stomping around his own stomping grounds, and maybe even visiting Redwall itself. Bet that'll make him wish he never came along with us, since I'm sure that's a situation he'd want to stay on top of himself. How're we going to handle that?"

"Alexander will of course find out about this eventually - such secrets are impossible to keep forever on so small and talkative a shared space as a sailing vessel - but I see no need to appraise him of this just yet. Tratton approached me, after all, so for now this arrangement is between me and him. Alexander is not pertinent to these negotiations, any more than he was to my negotiations with the sea otters. Tratton may not even journey as far as Redwall, and if he does, that will be the affair of the Abbey leaders who remained in their proper place to see to their proper responsibilities there, instead of running off to insert themselves in matters where they were not welcome."

"Yes, but ... what of the strife between us and Redwall? What of the battle in the Plains? If Tratton does go all the way to the Abbey, he's sure to find out about all of that. And then he'll know of the divisions between woodlanders ... "

"And he would exploit that division exactly how, Captain? I do not see this as mattering at all. Redwall was never a power outside its own small region of Mossflower, and of no direct concern to the searats whatsoever. Indeed, by allowing him to go there and learn of these things - although Captain Matowick expresses concerns in his note that Tratton might possess some inkling of them already - we show Tratton a level of confidence which lets him know we are comfortable letting him confirm our differences with Redwall, and fear no repercussions from that confirmation. Far from revealing a weakness we might prefer to keep hidden, it will demonstrate to him that we stand so assured in our strength, not even the strife of this season can erode our resolve."

"That's, ah, an interesting way of looking at it, Lord," Abellon responded as he and the badger exited the companionway out onto the open deck of the _Stronganchor_ , unconcerned about being overheard by the bustling deckpaws around them. "But, if you don't mind my saying, it seems to me your entire view of Redwall has changed of late. You used to speak of that Abbey as a bastion of strength for all Mossflower, and an ally to keep at almost any cost. Now, your attitude toward it seems almost dismissive, as if it doesn't even matter anymore."

"Oh, it matters, Captain. It matters more than you can possibly imagine. But the situation at Redwall is no longer a crisis, nor one that can't wait until more pressing matters receive my immediate attention. I will turn my sights back to Redwall when I am ready, in my own time and on my own terms."

Abellon showed surprise at Urthblood's choice of words. "Do you no longer consider Redwall a friend or ally?"

"My main quarrel rests with but one element of their leadership - an element I trust will stand wholly discredited by season's end. As for the rest, mending those bridges may prove a formidable task, but I will do what I can to bring that about ... when I am ready to do so."

"Well, that's a, uh, relief. I was beginning to worry that Alexander was right, and you really had come to view Redwall as an adversary. You've almost been acting that way ever since ... well, ever since the ratmaid."

"Yes, the coming of that one creature, and all that she brought with her, did indeed change everything. And while this shift might not exactly have cast Redwall as our enemy, it is certain that things will never be the same again ... not after her."

00000000000

Urthblood composed his reply to Matowick that night, and the errand gull was off early the next morning, the message tube on its leg holding both the original dispatches from Salamandastron as well as the badger's answer.

Alexander, up and about for a sunrise breakfast, was drawn to this abovedecks activity. "And what's all that about?" he asked suspiciously, still in the dark about Tratton's request.

"Routine exchange of status reports," Urthblood responded casually as they stood watching the gull vanishing into the blue sky. "Captain Matowick informing me all goes well at Salamandastron in my absence, and me doing likewise in regard to our encouraging and uneventful progress here."

"That seems ... unnecessary," the Redwaller probed, clearly dubious. "The gulls can clearly see on their own the progress we make, and our lack of difficulties, and report that back to Matowick at their leisure. And did you expect things to _not_ go well at Salamandastron?" The squirrel's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure there's not something going on that Matowick felt the need to inform you of?"

"No, Alexander of Redwall, there is not. Another searat ship has docked since our departure - just a galleon, nothing threatening or of undue concern. The forces I left behind are more than adequate to deal with anything that arises."

"Hmm. And what will those visiting searats think when they learn you're not there?"

"Why should they learn such a thing? I do not make a habit of meeting personally with every searat crew that ties up at our pier. Indeed, as you have seen for yourself, most times the crews remain aboard their vessels, not even bothering to enter the mountain. And I took pains to ensure Ambassador Erzath was not aware of my absence, so that he would not be able to share such information with any intelligence agents of Tratton's who should happen to stop there asking for a report from him. I have planned for every contingency. If all goes well, Tratton may never learn I left Salamandastron at all."

Alex scoffed at this. "Not even you could keep something that big hidden for so long. Sooner or later, they're bound to find out you're not there."

"Then let us hope it is later rather than sooner."


	14. Chapter XIII

**XIII.**

 **SALAMANDASTRON**

The gull arrived at Salamandastron well before midday, eating up the coastal miles as only a winged creature could, to deliver its return message in a timely manner for those on both land and sea who eagerly awaited it.

Matowick already waited up on the plateau, suspecting Lord Urthblood would need no more than one night to frame his reply and send it off. Tratton, for his part, failed to see the gull arrive; with so many of those seabirds constantly filling the coastal skies, trying to pick out the one bearing a message cylinder at the moment of its appearance would, even with the aid of the long glass, prove an exercise in extreme tedium. The Searat King was perfectly content to sit fast aboard his fleetrunner and wait until the squirrels' summons came.

The Gawtrybe Captain wasted not a moment in liberating the tube from the gull's leg and withdrawing the contents. To his surprise, he found four parchments within: the two he'd sent, from him and Tratton, and two responses from Urthblood - one a formal granting of permission to Tratton for his request to venture into the lands, the other a far more detailed eyes-only set of orders for Matowick to follow regarding the details and logistics of getting the searat company on its way.

Much was as he'd expected, and one or two of the points made him smirk in amusement.

Another most definitely did not.

The other Gawtrybe around him, noticing the contemplative frown on their commander's face as the silent moments dragged by, grew restless and more than a little worried. "Well, what does it say, sir?" Poinsett asked at last. "Will they be allowed to visit Mossflower, or no?"

"Oh, they're allowed, all right. Under most of the conditions I could have predicted, too. Although it appears there are still some details to be worked out and agreed upon between us. May as well go fetch His Majesty from his ship. This will require at least one more full sit-down meeting, and nothing to be gained by putting it off any longer than necessary, is there?"

As Poinsett and her team filed down the plateau stairs to go request the Sea King's presence once more, Matowick read over his instructions one last time to fix all the salient points firmly in his mind, then slipped the dispatch addressed to him into his tunic, deciding for now that no other eyes but his would see it.

Shortly, Tratton found himself back inside Salamandastron for the third and final time of this layover, Erzath seated at his right while Talarek and his guards encircled them, Matowick holding his usual spot at the opposite end of the table. The Gawtrybe commander wasted no time in getting right to the matter at paw.

"Lord Urthblood has given his consent for you to visit the inner lands, Your Majesty."

"Splendid. I assume there will conditions to which I must conform?"

"You assume correctly. I take it you intend to bring along an armed contingent for purposes of security?"

"Naturally. You yourself have noted quite plainly that Redwall and Mossflower are not bound by the Accord, and under no obligation to receive us peacefully."

"That's right. You may take with you as many guards or soldiery as you wish, as long as the number does not exceed thirty. Lord Urthblood feels a score and a half will prove more than adequate to provide for your safety, and anything more than that might end up being more provocative than protective. We wouldn't want the locals thinking this is a searat invasion, would we?"

"A valid concern, I suppose, although you would know the temperament of the lands better than I. Still, it hardly seems enough. I was thinking of threescore, at the very least."

"A score and a half, Your Majesty. That is the limit, those are the conditions. But if security remains a concern, you'll be relieved to know Lord Urthblood has ordered an escort from Salamandastron to accompany you on your journeys, one squirrel to each of your rats. You'll have your threescore protectors, if you wish to make the party that large - but half of them will be Gawtrybe."

"Hmm. One would think you don't trust me."

"Perish the thought, Your Majesty. But keep in mind that while the Mossflowerians are not bound by the Accord, we are. If you agree to Lord Urthblood's terms and conditions, we will leave here together as a joint force, and any attack on you would constitute an attack on us as well, to which we'd be honor-bound to respond. But I foresee no such trouble arising; once it is seen that you and your searats march in the company of respected squirrel archers, nobeast will be able to mistake it as a hostile incursion or invasion."

"I see Lord Urthblood has given this a good deal of thought. Very well. Were there any other conditions?"

"Yes. While you may bring along as many guards as you like, up to a score and a half, they are to be guards only. No spyrats are to be among your party."

Tratton's lower lip gave a bemused downward twist. "You really don't like them, do you?"

"Those are the terms, Your Majesty."

"You do realize, I could very easily disguise one or two of my spyrats as guards and you'd never be able to tell the difference?"

"But then you would be in violation of our terms, Your Majesty. But no, you are most likely correct - we would not be able to tell."

"So, when do we leave?"

"Whenever you like. But the subject of leaving does bring up another point. When you depart from Salamandastron, will it be by sea, or on foot?"

"On foot, I'd assumed. Why would it be otherwise?"

"Because we have a mountain range standing between us and the inner lands, and a recent ledge collapse has rendered the only convenient route over those peaks utterly impassible. You'll need to go around the mountains, and that will add many days to your travels if you go by land. I don't know how big a hurry you're in to reach Mossflower, or whether such a lengthy detour would fit with your own plans. I just thought you should be aware."

"What alternatives would you propose, Captain?"

"If you travel south, you can take your ship into the same broadstream visited by your underwater craft two summers ago ... "

Tratton sat up straighter at this casual mention of the submarine prototype which had been lost, and which had contributed to a major battle fought in lower Mossflower, but held his tongue to see what else the squirrel might reveal.

" ... you should be able to sail nearly as far upriver as it did ... and maybe further, if you use one of your smaller messenger craft. That would deliver you to within three or four days' march of Redwall, right into the heart of lower Mossflower."

"Hmm. A possibility to consider. Did you have any other options to propose?"

"Yes. You could sail north to the mouth of the Moss, and enter the inner lands that way. The Moss is wider and deeper than the broadstream to the south, and you'd be able to navigate it almost all the way to Redwall. Such a route should bear you to within just a day or two's walk from the Abbey."

Tratton smirked more openly now. "Aren't you the same squirrel who just argued how having your Gawtrybe along with us would allay the fears of the locals we encounter? And now you're advising us to sail the _Darktide_ right upriver into their midst? I'm sure they'd find that far more alarming than any landbound party on foot could possibly be."

"And intimidating as well - which will keep them in their homes, holes and burrows until searats and Gawtrybe are ready to disembark together to show our benevolent intent. I'm sure we can make it work, whichever way you go. The choice is yours."

"Yes, but if I do sail upstream aboard the _Darktide_ , either to the north or to the south, that means your squirrel escorts would have to sail with us, until we're ready to set out on foot."

"Is there a problem with that, Your Majesty?"

"I'm not sure how I feel about so many of your fighters being aboard a ship of the Fleet for days at a time."

" _You_ were allowed inside Salamandastron."

"You realize, if I find these conditions unacceptable, I could simply go back outside, reboard my ship and sail into Mossflower on my own."

"But then you would have neither Lord Urthblood's leave nor his protection, and any misfortunes you encountered would be none of our concern. It would also leave me wondering why you bothered coming here at all, and waited on Lord Urthblood's reply. The very fact that you did leads me to believe our permission was important to you. But, we cannot stop you for doing as you will once you leave Salamandastron's gate, if you do so without agreeing to these terms."

"I could make your escorts stick to the land, marching alongside us as we sail."

"But then you'd have to slow your progress to match ours ... and that would rather defeat the purpose of making the first leg of the journey by sea and river, wouldn't it?"

"If any of your squirrels are let aboard the _Darktide_ , they will of course be disarmed."

"For the duration of the shipborne phase, I assume you mean. Once they disembark to join you for the land march, their weapons would need to be returned to them."

"Naturally." Tratton remained silent for many heartbeats, mulling over all he'd been told. "Are there any other conditions I should know about?"

"I think that about covers them, Your Majesty. Lord Urthblood places no time or distance constraints on your travels, so you are free to go where you will, and take as long as you please in getting there. We will, of course, expect your behavior to be exemplary, with no actions taken on the part of yourself or your company which might provoke or incite any inflammatory incidents with the residents of the territories through which you pass."

"Of course. I have decided on my route. I will sail the _Darktide_ south, but only far enough to clear the lower end of the mountain range. We will then disembark and set off inland without that obstacle in our way. I will not be sailing up either river; the _Darktide_ will remain anchored where I leave her, and wait there for our eventual return."

"That will hardly save you much in the way of time and travel."

"Didn't you just say I could take as long as I wished and go where I wanted? And after all, if the whole point of this excursion is to see as much of the lands for myself as I can, that's best done while walking abroad in those lands, not watching from a ship's railing as they slip by; I can do that easily enough sailing up and down the coasts on any ship of the Fleet. Oh, and I've decided I will not be letting any of your squirrels aboard the _Darktide_ after all. Since we'll only be sailing a short way down the coastline, they can keep pace with us on shore, until we're ready to rendezvous with them at our landing point."

"You'll need to moderate your pace to stay abreast of them."

"Or maybe they'll have to run to keep up with us."

"There's also a small stream they'll need to cross that cuts across the beach."

"Then I hope they can swim as well as run. And I take it from your choice of wording during this conversation that you will not be joining us yourself?"

Matowick paused, perhaps longer than the idle inquiry warranted. "No. Of course not. I am the commander of Salamandastron in Lord Urthblood's absence, and cannot be spared. But rest assured your escort squad will be comprised of capable Gawtrybe, with a capable commander of their own." His gaze went to Erzath. "I trust you'll be taking your Ambassador here with you, to address any diplomatic situations which arise?"

"On the contrary. His place is here, just as yours is. I will serve as my own Ambassador to the lands. After all, if the good creatures of Mossflower realize they are treating directly with the King of the Searat Empire, why would there be need of anyrat else?"

"Ah yes. About that. While we have now touched upon every term and condition of Lord Urthblood's consent, he also included some additional ... suggestions, shall we say? And one of those in particular addressed this very point ... "

00000000000

Once Tratton's party withdrew from the dining hall, taking with them Ambassador Erzath for inclusion in the final deliberations and planning, Matowick called Poinsett over to him, having bidden the female Gawtrybe to remain behind.

"Poinsett, I'm putting you in charge of the escort squad who'll be accompanying Tratton on this mad march of his."

"Me, sir?"

"You've had much more interaction with him than any other Gawtrybe at Salamandastron besides me, and he seems comfortable around you - or at least as comfortable as he ever is around any of us."

"Yes, but ... I'm not sure how comfortable I am around _him_."

Matowick gave an encouraging smile. "You're Gawtrybe through and through, and know how to take charge in any situation - I've seen enough of you to know that. I'm sure you'll do fine. And I'm promoting you to sergeant, to reflect your authority and the importance of this duty, and as a reward in anticipation of a job well done."

"Sergeant? But, I'm not even a corporal, sir! What about Corporal Lown? I'm sure he'd be just as well-suited for this detail, and you'd only have to bump him up one rank ... "

"Ideally, Perricone would be the one I'd send, since she's the only lieutenant at the mountain, but since she's still on maternity leave, and since Sergeant Witko left with Lord Urthblood, rank now counts for far less than experience and ability. You're the squirrel for this job, Poinsett, for the reasons I've already laid out. I realize it's a big responsibility, and there's no telling how long this errand will keep you away from the mountain. But now that His Lordship has granted Tratton permission for this, it's up to all of us to do what we can to make sure it works."

"What if he tries something, sir? Like trying to land a greater force than agreed upon, or causing trouble at Redwall? What level of force am I authorized to use?"

"We'll not start a war over this; Lord Urthblood was quite clear about that much. You're to use deadly force against the searats only if they use deadly force against you first, or show that they're about to. Otherwise, if Tratton does anything to violate the terms of this excursion, you're simply to call him out on it, report it back to me, and we'll let Lord Urthblood decide what to do about it. We'll have gulls shadowing you the entire way, at least until you get to Redwall, if Tratton even has that destination in mind. Once there, it'll be up to those Abbeybeasts to decide how to handle things, and whether to even let him in. But I don't think he'll give you any trouble you can't manage. He knows how much danger he'd be exposing himself to if he did, and I don't imagine he's looking to take those kinds of chances."

"Hm. Sir, what do you really think he's on about?"

"I honestly don't know. Coming to Salamandastron unannounced like he did, making such a bizarre request ... I suspect it ultimately has something to do with Redwall, but I can only guess at what it might be. Maybe his aims are infiltration and intelligence, maybe they're diplomatic, and maybe it's idle curiosity and boredom. He must have heard a great deal about Mossflower over the seasons, and maybe he just wants to see it for himself. But I'll be counting on you for a lot more than just protecting him, and protecting yourself and others from him. You're to keep eyes and ears sharp for any clues as to his true motivation, and either act accordingly, or else bring those observations back here so Lord Urthblood and I are made aware of them."

"That sounds rather ... ambiguous, sir."

"You'll be granted a wide latitude of action in this assignment. Just use your best judgment, and let's both hope things don't go too far afield of how they're supposed to!"

00000000000

Perhaps Matowick had wanted his wife to find the note.

The morning after Tratton's departure on the _Darktide_ , with Poinsett's paw-picked escort squad marching south along the coastal plain in double time to keep up with the searat ship paralleling the shoreline, the Gawtrybe captain woke to find Perricone standing at the foot of their bed regarding him with a mix of anger, disappointment and confusion. Elberon burbled happily in his crib across the chamber, oblivious to the mood of his parents; in her paw Perri clutched the instruction parchment Urthblood had sent to Matowick.

"You didn't go." A quiet accusation.

Matowick raised himself to a seated position on the mattress. "No, I didn't." Equally calm and matter-of-fact, an assertion as much as an acknowledgment.

"But Lord Urthblood ordered you to go. He ordered you to personally oversee Tratton's progress through Mossflower."

"To what purpose? He also left me in charge of Salamandastron in his absence, clearly trusting me to exercise my best judgment in whatever circumstances arose. That's what I did here."

"You justify disobeying a direct order by saying you were following another?"

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. I'm needed far more here at Salamandastron to exercise the oversight of this stronghold than I am running around the lands playing diplomatic nursemaid to that sea tyrant. Escorting Tratton was a task just as easily left to any number of other perfectly capable Gawtrybe, so I delegated it to those I knew could carry it out just as well as I could. It wasn't necessary for me to go myself - on the contrary, I deemed it to be counter-productive and pointless."

"But he ordered _you_ to go. Not to send somebeast in your place. You disobeyed a direct order."

"You know Tratton means to make for Redwall, don't you? That's got to be what he has in mind. How do you think the Abbeybeasts would respond if I were to show my face there again? What kind of harm would it do for Tratton to witness the highest-ranking Gawtrybe in Lord Urthblood's service being spurned by the central power in Mossflower, barred entry and turned away in disgrace? I would prove more a detriment than an asset on any such march, exposing our weaknesses rather than embodying our strengths. He's already dropped hints that he knows something of the friction between Lord Urthblood and Redwall; why should we do anything to underscore just how deep and rife with enmity those divisions are?"

"Tratton will find that out soon enough from the Abbeybeasts themselves, once he gets there. And do you seriously think Poinsett is any more likely to win entry to Redwall than you'd be? Lord Urthblood has reasons for everything he does; you know that. And if he ordered you to accompany Tratton on this march, it was not your place to second-guess him. Perhaps he foresaw circumstances arising which would demand your immediate involvement and on-the-spot judgment and action - out there in the field, as it's happening, not here sitting on your tail separated from events by leagues of distance and tons of rock."

"And perhaps he foresaw me refusing to go. Perhaps he foresaw the two of us having this very conversation. I've served Lord Urthblood faithfully for many seasons, Perri, longer than most of his troops, and most Gawtrybe too, for that matter, first in the Northlands and then down here. My head grows dizzy contemplating the number of times my fellow soldiers and I have pondered just what that badger foresees and what he doesn't, what's all part of some bigger plan and what's mere happenstance. Well, I'm growing tired of it. I'm growing tired of it all. And for Lord Urthblood to order me out on another lengthy mission which will almost surely take me to a place where I am now vilified, and to issue those orders in a manner which strikes me as almost capricious, seems almost malicious to me. I wasn't going to leave you and Elberon again, not so soon, not for so long. Not without much better reason than I was given."

"You think I _wanted_ you to go? We don't get to chose which orders to follow, Matti. And we don't get to decide for ourselves which orders make sense and which don't ... and we most certainly do not get to place personal concerns and comforts ahead of our sworn duty. If you truly feel this way, then you should not be in command of Salamandastron. In fact, you should not be in Lord Urthblood's service at all, as an officer or any other rank."

In the crib behind her, Elberon's babbling and burbling had gone quiet in response to the palpable tension in the chamber.

Matowick sighed. "I was afraid you'd react this way."

"How else was I _supposed_ to react, Matti? This borders on treason!"

"No. No, it doesn't. I exercised my authority of command - authority Lord Urthblood personally bestowed upon me - to excuse myself from a requested assignment. Myself, and no other. The mission will still proceed, as both Tratton and Lord Urthblood wished, with a perfectly qualified surrogate in my stead. And if he has a problem with that, he can take it up with me upon his return."

Perricone swallowed, distress now mixing with her anger and disappointment. "That's what I'm afraid of." She cast the parchment onto the rumpled bedcovers and turned away to comfort the now confused and apprehensive squirrel babe, who couldn't possibly comprehend any of what was going on between his parents but could sense that it wasn't good.

Matowick and Perricone did not speak for a long time after that.


	15. Chapter XIV

**XIV.**

 **REDWALL**

Geoff shook his head sadly. "I still can't believe anybeast had the gall to make off with our ferry barges like that. Such nerve!"

"It's all water under the bridge, Abbot," Lekkas replied, "or rafts down the river, as the case may be. Nothing to be done about it now, and at least they left us enough to get our ferrying done without too much inconvenience. Still, it goes to show vermin can't be trusted."

Geoff sniffed. "Vermin? I suspect it was Custis and his Gawtrybe who were behind it, even if the only pawprints found at the scene of the theft were those of foxes and their rat prisoners. I honestly don't see Tolar and his brigade being any willing partner to such larceny, at least not against us!"

"The Abbess did seem to think some new lot may've joined the game, so it may not have been your fox friends after all. But they'd still be working for Urthblood, and after what he pulled with stealing away that ratmaid, I think we're all agreed we need to look at our relationship with that badger in a whole new light."

The two mice stood regarding the big pit in the meadow just across the path and drainage ditch from Redwall: the foundation excavation for the first building of Freetown. In just two days the moles had tunnelled out the connecting passage between the Long Patrol warrens and this spot, and now half of Foremole's present crew labored at properly lining that tunnel with stone to reinforce its permanence while the other half toiled out here in the open, digging out the cellar outlines around where the tunnel had emerged at this location. The borrowed Gawtrybe cart had already been dispatched back to the quarry to pick up the next batch of stone for the tunnel-lining, a process Foremole hoped to have completed in just a few more days, while around on the east side of the Abbey, Montybank and Brother Sethburr oversaw the construction of a second large wagon to speed up the stone-hauling chores, Far more sensible, the Abbey leaders had agreed, to have one cart for conveying the building materials from the quarry to the Moss, and another to get them from the river to Redwall, thus sparing the single cart from having to make the entire round trip for each delivery.

"I still can't believe it's actually underway," Geoff remarked from the edge of the excavation. "In one sense, it feels like it was so long ago that you first proposed Freetown, with all that's happened since, but maybe that mad rush of frenetic events has also made the time fly by faster, so it now seems like this groundbreaking has almost come upon us by surprise."

"What did you expect, Abbot? You knew we were of a mind to get this done without delay, and you know how capable and competent our moles are. And with so many extra paws at the quarry to speed the work along, between Monty's otters and all us ex-slaves, we couldn't help but keep to a brisk schedule. If anything, I'm actually a little disappointed we aren't further along than we are."

"Ah, yes, patience was never your strong suit, was it, my friend?"

"I used up all my patience under the searat lash, Abbot. I've got a whole lot of living to do to make up for those lost seasons, so you'll pardon me if I'm a little antsy to get this all done."

"Well, it seems to be off to a good start. Compared to that staircase to Warbeak Loft we've been kicking around since two summers ago, which I'm starting to despair will never be built, Freetown is positively flying like a sparrow! Oh, and speaking of summers and seasons, this summer is very nearly upon us. Which means it's time to start thinking about Nameday again."

"Nameday? With all that's gone on, Abbot? Are you sure everybeast here is up for a celebration?"

"It was partly Vanessa's suggestion, but I can't say I disagree at all. The season will have to be named, one way or the other, for the purposes of entering it into our records if nothing else. But I think some festivities might be just what we could use around here. It's always been our tradition, and I see no reason to suspend it this time - especially with Montybank and Foremole back, and you and Clovis as well. Speaking of which, Vanessa is of the impression that our Matthias and Methuselah bells may soon be sounding a wedding toll on that score. Might we perchance have a marriage to celebrate this Nameday as well?"

"I suppose that's the worst-kept secret in Mossflower these days, isn't it? And I suppose that's also why we both came back to Redwall together. We're still discussing it between ourselves, but you will be the first to know, Abbot."

"Good, good. My door is always open, for whatever you need. Now that I'm back in the Abbot's chair, at least it is my door again."

Lekkas glanced sideways at his fellow mouse. "Yes, just what do you make of all that business with the Abbess? About her removal of you from your position of Abbot, and now her equally surprising abdication, due to Urthblood's note?"

"Oh, you mean 'Urthblood's Folly?' I don't believe it at all, of course. Even Colonel Clewiston and the Long Patrol, who were the quickest to fall for that ruse, now accept that that's what it was, and no longer question Nessa's identity or loyalty."

"I'm not so sure about that part. Looks to me, from what I've seen, like our top hares are sticking pretty close to her. I saw it at the quarry with Traveller, and with Clewiston too since we've been back at Redwall."

"Yes, but it almost strikes me as the same kind of closeness Nessa's been enjoying with Winokur and Maura - a shared confidence rather than suspicious watchfulness. As long as we're back to being one trusting family again with no divisions or secret schemes against each other, I'll be quite content with that!" Geoff grew more contemplative. "Although, now that I am fully Abbot again, I suppose it falls to me to choose the name for this season, doesn't it?"

"At least it will leave your streak unbroken," Lekkas said with a smile. "Nice of Nessa to reclaim the Abbess's chair and then give it up again in time for you to have Nameday all to yourself!"

"I'm sure she didn't plan things around _that_ ," Geoff dourly retorted. "And if the last two seasons both bore names which alluded to the Accord and the freeing of Tratton's slaves, my dilemma this time will be deciding which of the more recent events deserve to have the season named for them, over and above all the rest. The breaking of ground for Freetown, the strife with Lord Urthtblood, Vanessa's miraculous recovery, the settling of those rats at Redwall - "

"Oh please!' Lekkas interjected with a derisive snort. "Surely you'd not seriously entertain naming an entire season for those unruly creatures! Not with so many better choices!"

Geoff looked over his spectacles at Lekkas. "You'll not deny that their arrival at Redwall, and the reason behind their quest for refuge, has dominated recent events, instigating and precipitating any number of occurrences - including your own relocation to the quarry for much of this season. And it was Urthblood's abduction of one of their own which led to blows out in the Western Plains - the very same ratmaid who, by all accounts, gave Vanessa back to us with her healing touch. Why, we could name an entire season after Latura alone, and make a very good case for it!"

Lekkas all but stuck out his tongue at this notion. "But that all took place _this_ season, Abbot. It might not necessarily have anything to do with _next_ season, so why would you name a summer for it?"

"Well, it's not like we can actually see ahead to know what's to come in the season almost upon us. I mean, maybe Latura could, and perhaps Vanessa too, if she really does share some kind of link with Martin. I think I can safely say that the rats currently sheltering within our walls, who dare not set one paw past any of our gates lest they be captured by the Gawtrybe, must find our current season name especially ironic, and perhaps more than a little barbed as well; for them, it is certainly no Spring of Freedom! That's why we often name the seasons for what has already happened, or for circumstances as they pertain at the start of that season. Very few of us have a crystal ball, Lekkas."

"But in this case, we do. Freetown is real. It's happening, right in front of you. And it's only just begun - which must mean that its construction will surely stand as the most important event at Redwall this summer."

Geoff glanced from the foundation pit before him to the Abbey across the path and back again. "Technically, it won't even be in or at Redwall ... "

Lekkas huffed in exasperation. "You know what I mean, Abbot!"

"Yes I do. And by that same logic, our rat guests will also surely loom large in the season to come. They are now a permanent fixture at Redwall, whether it pleases you or not. Or, if they're not, it will likely take a war to dislodge them, and many more Redwaller deaths in their defense. Are you suggesting _that_ may not be the focal point of the coming season?"

"Yes, but why focus on the negative? And I can't help noticing you're out here with us rather than inside with _them_."

"That means nothing. As Abbot, I must constantly oversee everything within and around Redwall, and Freetown will certainly impact us in a big way, even if it does lie outside our walls." Geoff studied the yawning excavation before them. "From what Foremole says, it will take at least two more cartloads from the quarry to finish the tunnel, which means it will be some days yet before any stone is laid here to start the cellar proper. I hope the dry weather holds up; one good rainstorm, and I can see this entire depression turning into one huge, unworkable mud pit!"

"Well, that's the good thing about having so many beasts working on this project," Lekkas said with a laugh. "If it gets too wet for our moles to cope with, we'll just send in our otters!"

00000000000

"General, it's come to my attention that your rats have been fighting again."

Harth stood facing Vanessa in the Infirmary, guided there by Colonel Clewiston, who now stood aside at the ready as rat and mouse confronted each other.

"Well, what did you expect, marm? They've been cooped up in this Abbey fer goin' on half a season now, an' they're gettin' a little stir crazy. Who can blame 'em?"

"We can't have violent outbursts on the Abbey grounds, no matter if it's just pent-up frustration. It's unseemly, and has no place at Redwall."

"They've only bickered an' tussled a bit 'mongst themselves," Harth protested, seeking to forestall any censure before it took hold. "I've made sure they know what'll happen to 'em if they ever lash out at a proper Abbeybeast."

"Even so, their flaring tempers can be frightening to those just looking on who are unaccustomed to such behavior, and contribute toward bad feeling directed at all rats at Redwall. And that is not in anybeast's best interest. Not if you wish to continue to enjoy our protection and sanctuary."

Harth's eyes widened. "You wouldn't kick us out over some minor squabbles 'n' dustups, wouldja?"

"Me? I'm not going to throw you out over anything; Geoff is Abbot again, remember? But I'm hoping we can head this problem off before it reaches his desk, or falls into his lap. He's a busy mouse, with much on his mind, and he's best spared any messy and difficult decisions that we might better resolve on our own, without dragging him into it."

Harth gave a sly grin. "In other words, ye're still the real power here, an' he just sits in the fancy chair."

"What can we do to pacify your more troublesome rats, General, and keep them from scaring the babes and faint of heart? I'm all ears, and open to suggestions."

"It's lack of anything t' do that's gettin' to 'em, Abbess. Just sittin' around with their lives on hold, not fully accepted here but not able t' go anywhere else. And I've been feelin' it too, to be honest. It's not just me an' my fighters either; at least they can still patrol the grounds, helpin' guard the gates an' keep walltop lookout ... " Harth's gaze went to the Long Patrol hare. "Altho' it'd help their esteem a lot if they had some real weapons t' wield, instead of toy swords, broom handles an' brush switches."

"Don't push it, chum," Clewiston warned. "An' if you'd ever seen wot a seasoned Patroller could do with a broom handle, you'd not look down your snout at it as a weapon quite so fast."

"Letting already-disgruntled and bickering creatures have sharp blades and range weapons?" Vanessa weighed in. "Oh, that'd be a fine idea. You're not getting your arms back, General. Perhaps your soldiers could take up some stress-relieving hobbies to help release their pent-up frustrations. But you mentioned others as well?"

Harth nodded. "We were a community back in Krayne's valley, not just an army. Seamstresses, cooks, handybeasts, launderettes ... an' more than a few of those ratwives an' maids out there know a fair thing or two about healin' lore. More, I'd likely daresay, than that stripedog lad you got playin' assistant sickbay keeper these days."

"Metellus still studies as an apprentice, but he is hardly 'playing' at anything. I would not sell his present skills short. He might surprise you, even at his current level of training. But your point is well taken. You and your rats have skills to offer us, and we have yet to embrace them."

"Yeah, that's puttin' it lightly. You've not embraced our skills, or us either."

"In this case, General, I believe the two are very much one and the same, or at least very closely intertwined. It is hard to feel you're part of a community if you're not fully participating in it. And I will concede that we Abbeybeasts are far from blameless in contributing to this impasse. Old prejudices die hard, and having so many of your species dumped on them all at once has proven a challenge for many here to accept, or accustom themselves to."

Harth's hackles rose slightly. "Dumped?"

Vanessa raised a placating paw. "By circumstances, and by the needs imposed on us all from outside by Urthblood. I am not assigning any blame in this predicament to you, merely stating how many if not most Redwallers may view the situation. Your plight does not alter the fact that you are rats, a race with whom we have shared almost uniformly bad experiences down through our history. It only makes sense that, in order to make this arrangement work, there are certain walls which must be brought down first, certain ingrained attitudes which must be overcome. And I think your point about what you rats have to offer might well provide the best approach to addressing this issue head-on. Of course you will still be viewed as interlopers who don't fully belong here as long as you're not contributing, so that is what we must make sure happens now."

Harth, much mollified, gave a nod of agreement. "Glad ye're seein' sense, Abbess. When Colonel Bunny here came to fetch me up to you, was afraid it was just to yell at me."

Clewiston glowered. "Watch that bunny talk there, friend, or I'll show you the bally difference 'tween hares an' bunnies."

"What I propose," Vanessa pushed on, ignoring the verbal jabs between rat and hare, "is for me to serve in a placement function to get some of your rats where they need to go. To act as a liaison, as it were, between factions within Redwall who could use additional helpers, and those currently sitting idle outdoors now who can supply that help. I'll start with Friar Hugh, and arrange for him to try out some of your cookrats on a trial basis; if they're not familiar with the Redwall way of preparing dishes, I'm confident they can be taught without much trouble. Sisters Grace and Orellana can take any of your aspiring seamstresses under their wing to see what they have to offer; with all the extra beasts wearing so many extra clothes around here these days, stitchers and menders will always be welcome. If you've got handyrats who know anything about carpentry, I'll link them up with Brother Sethburr and see how that works out. Brother Jerome, who's in charge of lighting all of our wall torches at night, might be able to use some assistants for that regular task, and Brother Joel, our chief horticulturalist, could perhaps use some help in the gardens and orchard as well, if any of your rats posses a bit of a green pawthumb. And any number of the brothers and sisters will welcome help with the laundering. As for here in the Infirmary, I will personally oversee any rat who wishes to aid us in our healers' duties, and perhaps give them some pointers even as Arlyn and I forge ahead with the education of Metellus. It's a longstanding tradition that anybeast of good heart can settle and live at Redwall as long as they do their part to contribute to the greater good and earn their keep, and it has occurred to me that your rats have not been asked to do this as they properly should. And we can see now why it is not just for the benefit of the Abbey that we ask this of our new arrivals, but for theirs as well. Everybeast needs to feel it belongs somewhere, and what better way to gain that sense of belonging than to lend a paw where they can and earn their place as Redwallers?"

Harth's typically-cynical smile turned to one of genuine satisfaction. "Sounds like you've given this a lot o' thought, Abbess ... an' that you plan on us stickin' around fer the long haul after all."

"I honestly see no alternative, General. The Purge could end tomorrow - or it might never end at all, at least not as long as Urthblood's alive, and perhaps not even then, depending on how deeply entrenched that policy becomes amongst his followers. We can't assume he and the Gawtrybe mean to relent anytime soon. Therefore, we must move forward on the presumption that your rats are to be with us for an open-ended period, and perhaps permanently - which means they must become Redwallers proper, and sooner rather than later. Of course, even if the Purge were by some miracle to end tomorrow, any of you who wish would be free to remain, as long as you continue to honor our ways and make a genuine effort to fit in."

"Yah, I ain't holdin' my breath 'bout those red-furred terrors lettin' up on us anytime soon. An' I will say I'm likin' what I'm hearin' about your ideas on gettin' us more accepted 'round here. I'll do what I can t' help make it happen. But there's one thing else needs addressin' too: the schoolin' fer our young 'uns."

"Oh? I was under the impression Winokur was handling that to your satisfaction."

"He is, I s'pose, as far as it goes. But our ratlin's 're startin' to wonder why they're bein' taught separate from yer own lads 'n' lasses."

"I should think that was obvious. Many Abbeybeasts still harbor misgivings about letting any number of rats inside the Abbey proper at any one time. And since all the rest of you have been staying outdoors, it's only made sense that Winokur would conduct his lessons out where you are. I should remind you that your children have been receiving the benefit of our top educator, our chief historian and Recorder, while our own mice, moles, 'hogs, squirrels and otters have had to make do with Winokur's apprentice Cyrus. So you're hardly getting the short end of _that_ deal."

"Mebbe so, but we're still bein' taught outside, an' we're still bein' taught sep'rate. Ye're th' one who just gave a long list of all th' ways our capable beasts gotta start workin' t'gether so we rats can fit in better at Redwall. What kinda message will it send if our grown-ups 're makin' that effort while our tykes 're still bein' kept apart?"

"Hmm. A very valid point. What would you propose to address this?"

"Either have our rats go in to take their lessons with yer own young 'uns, or else have yer woodlander tots come out to take their lessons on the lawns with us. At least as long as this nice weather holds out."

"Such mingling would lead to quite large class sizes. I could see them becoming somewhat difficult to conduct without disorder."

"Well, you'd have two teachers on paw t' keep order an' discipline, wouldn'tja? Wink an' his mouse helper. But it'd lead to th' kind o' minglin' an' intergration you just went on about. An' if it's good 'nuff fer tailors 'n' gardners 'n' torchlighters, it oughta be good 'nuff fer all our little ones, shouldn't it?"

"You make a persuasive argument, General. I'm willing to try it if you are - or, more to the point, if Winokur is. The final decision must be his, so I'll leave it to the two of you to work out between you. I'm just the Infirmary keeper these days, remember?"

Harth smirked. "Yah. Right."

"Was there anything else, General?"

"Been hearin' some talk about sumpthin' called Nameday that might be comin' up. What's that all about?"

"Just our seasonal celebration, another longstanding tradition of ours dating back almost to the founding of Redwall itself. Since our Recorders keep journals chronicling all noteworthy Abbey events - and believe me, they've had a lot to write about _this_ season! - we can't just have them piling entry on top of entry with no lines of demarcation. Thus, we give each season a name, to help keep our histories just a little more organized than they might be otherwise."

"Wouldn't it be easier just t' go by who's Abbot or Abbess at any given time? There'd be a lot fewer of them then all th' seasons each one presides over Redwall for."

"But then we wouldn't get to enjoy a feast every ninety days or so," Vanessa replied with a wide, impish grin.

"Hrm. An' will _we_ be invited to this feast?"

"It would be rather hard to exclude you, since we always hold it outdoors in fair weather. This will be your first Nameday with us, and I trust you'll be impressed."

"I'm sure we will. Just out o' curiosity, what's th' name o' _this_ season?"

"Winokur's already been over that in his lessons with the youngrats, but I guess that hasn't trickled up to you yet, being the busy and important General you are. This is the Spring of Freedom."

Harth winced. "Ouch."

"Yes, it was chosen with the liberated searat slaves in mind, before we knew you'd be coming here for your imposed stay with us. But in a way it applies to you as well, since at least none of you are chained up in a searat rowing galley."

"Yah, there is that. So, who gets to name each season?"

"The presiding Abbot or Abbess, of course. The rest of us can make suggestions, but that's it."

"Hrm. Any idea what name he'll pick for this summer?"

"Not a clue. He probably doesn't even know yet himself. It could have something to do with you, or with Freetown, or with what color flowers happen to be blooming out in the meadows. We'll find out in good time."

Clewiston noted the lack of cheer on the rat's face. "Why so dour, chum? Would've thought you'd be bolstered an' boosted in the old spirits by the prospects of a classic Abbey beanfest, wot?"

Harth's mouth remained set in a grim line. "Oh, food's not gonna put me off my food. It's just that Lattie said there'd be no rats left anyplace in the lands by summer's end ... an' now here we are, about to welcome that very season. Even if we here in Redwall 're safe from what she predicted, it's hardly call fer celebration fer any who're still outside these walls, is it?"

00000000000

After Harth left, Clewiston tarried behind in the Infirmary for a few words in private with Vanessa, watching with a touch of concern as the rat chief departed.

"Sure we can trust him to get back outside on his own unescorted, without causing any trouble, marm?"

"I'm watching him, Colonel. If he steps out of line between here and the grounds, I'll know - not that I expect any such thing from him. He's always known what's at stake better than anybeast among us, rat or woodlander, and appreciates what lines must not be crossed."

"Hrm. Wonder if the same can be said for all the bloomin' 'help' he's just foisted on us - or for their brats they want sharing classes with our pupils. Chevelle, Troyall an' Faylona will soon be of an age to start Abbey classes, with Lysander not far behind. Not sure how I feel about our sons 'n' daughters sittin' side-by-side with such creatures."

"Now, Colonel, Winokur has assured us that when he gets his rat students alone and away from the influence of their parents for his classes, they're every bit as attentive and well-behaved as any Abbey pupils he's ever had - and maybe moreso, since they're all a little bit cowed by their predicament, and not nearly as likely to cut up as some of his past subjects. In fact, I'd venture that they're much more likely to be influenced to such shenanigans by Droge, Pirkko and Budsock than the other way around ... which is something we will have to keep very much in mind. If they get up to any harmless pranks or mischief, there can be no double standard, and we daresn't judge or discipline them any differently than if such misdeeds were carried out by a mouse, hedgehog, squirrel or shrew. But I'm sure it will be fine. Cyrus has proven a most capable deputy to Winokur, our most mischief-prone culprits have settled down more and more as they near the end of their schooling seasons, our Sparra trio have totally transformed themselves into helpful birds, and with Wink and Cyrus jointly overseeing larger mixed lessons of Abbeybeasts and rats together, I'm confident all will turn out well where that's concerned."

"Hmm. Hope you're right, marm. But wot of their parents, an' the rest? Most of those rats out there have never even set so much as one grubby toeclaw across our inner threshold, an' now you're proposin' to have 'em up here in the Infirmary an' down in th' kitchens an' raidin' our wardrobes an' wand'rin' th' blinkin' corridors at night with fire-makin' implements ... why not just put 'em in charge of guardin' the armory while we're at it?"

"Your penchant for being hare-ishly overdramatic is entertaining as always, Colonel. But Harth is one hundred percent correct in that we need to start integrating his rats with the longtime residents. It's actually long overdue, and something I would have proposed myself if Harth hadn't done so. We simply can't continue to have two separate camps dwelling side-by-side and yet apart from each other within our walls. Such social tension would prove untenable, unsustainable and damaging over the long run, and since it looks like the long run is precisely what our rat friends will be here for, the situation had to be addressed, and forthrightly. I'm not saying that every single one of them will work out, or prove to be up to snuff at either performing their tasks or getting along with traditional Abbeybeasts, but we can always provide further training and guidance for the former cases, and as for the latter, there are always the Abbey lawns, which would put them right back where they are now and leave them no worse off. There may well be some who won't even want to try, preferring to keep to their fellow rats. The point is, we shall have to show patience and understanding to all of them, and give them ample opportunity to demonstrate both their worth and cooperativeness." Sensing the Colonel's continued misgivings, Vanessa added, "I will, of course, be keeping a careful watch over all of this, and hopefully can catch any problems before they lead to any real trouble."

"Yah. Hopefully." Clewiston sighed. "I suppose you're right, marm. An' if wot Traveller overheard at th' quarry bears any truth at all, then this Purge won't be lettin' up anytime soon, an' may in fact be enterin' a new an' more brutal phase - which means all our ratfaces will be sittin' tight right where they are, with us. But it would be nice to know where this Jaffox character is keeping himself nowadays - if he was even there at Foxguard in the first place."

Vanessa and Traveller had successfully pieced together the mysterious identity of this new player at Foxguard, with the invaluable assistance of Winokur, who had been on paw to hear Captain Truax enumerate the barbaric vulpine's nefarious deeds in the Northlands and was thus instantly familiar with the name, even having entered it in his journals. They'd decided to keep the arrival of Jaffox in Mossflower a secret from Geoff and the other Abbey leaders, wishing to avoid undue worry among the resident and guests, but even so, the mystery persisted, refusing to lend itself to a full resolution. Sparra had been dispatched to Foxguard upon Vanessa's return, ostensibly to make sure Mona's party had reached the fortress safely - and to lodge a mild protest over the misappropriation of two of the quarrying ferries - but in truth to scout out the grounds and verify the presence of this new element from the North. However, the sharp-eyed birds failed to spot anything out of the ordinary at the fox stronghold, glimpsing only the swordsbeasts of Tolar's brigade and the Gawtrybe, along with the usual complement of weasel laborers. If another entire second fox brigade had ever been there, no sign of them was to be seen.

"Oh, Jaffox was there all right, we can be sure of that," Vanessa said. "That's not a name Tolar would throw around lightly, and the pawprints on the riverbank all but prove he was there. And if Tolar would never stoop to stealing our ferry barges - and certainly not for the purpose of conveying rat prisoners to the coast - it's a given that somebeast like Jaffox would harbor no such qualms. All the pieces fit; Jaffox is in Mossflower."

"So wot'd he do, move on from Foxguard as soon as he got done pilfering our puddle-jumpers? 'Cos he sure doesn't seem to be there now."

"It's possible he boarded the barges himself to personally escort the captive rats down to the sea, but I don't think we can count ourselves so lucky to be rid of him that easily. Urthblood wouldn't have called him down from the Northlands to serve as nursemaid for just one batch of prisoners. You were with Wink when Truax described the operations up there. Jaffox may be the one Urthblood calls on to do the dirtiest of his dirty work, but he also carries the weight of a regional commander, which likely means he's been assigned to Mossflower for some larger aim. If I had to guess, I'd hazard that he's moved on with the Gawtrybe, to help Custis with the Purge, but the truth is he could be anywhere in Mossflower right now. Perhaps we should hope that he stays on his side of the Moss, and consider ourselves fortunate if we get that much out of the situation."

"Except our quarry party's on that side of the river too," Clewiston reminded her. "Wot do we do if he troubles or molests them, or tries to stop their work?"

"We'll cross that stream when we get to it, won't we? For now, all we can do is increase our Sparra flights to the quarry to twice a day - that should give us frequent enough surveillance to know about such trouble in good time, and I wouldn't want to overtax our winged friends any more than that. If Jaffox interferes in any substantial way with our activities, I might just have to make another trip to the quarry myself to sort it out ... and I'll make sure I have the sword of Martin with me."

Clewiston started hard at her. "You'd up the ante like that? Might give yourself away."

"A risk I'd have to take. I'll not sit by and let Redwallers be threatened or intimidated. Not here, and not at the quarry, where we have every right to be."

"Agree with that sentiment, marm, but goin' up against those rotters would be like takin' on a small barbarian horde. A lot diff'rent than takin' four mostly unarmed rats by surprise up in this Infirmary, wot?"

"If Jaffox pushes things, both you and he will see that my sword skills are as sharp against foxes as they are against rats, armed or unarmed. I hope it doesn't come to that, of course, but we must do what we must. I will confess, one of my biggest disappointments to come out of all of this was my inability to travel to Foxguard as I'd planned. Tolar is getting to where I want him, but I think it would have been most beneficial to observe affairs at Foxguard firstpaw, and to work on him a bit more in his own home. Sadly, Jaffox's presence forestalled any such strategy."

Clewiston snorted. "I'm sure Tolar's just a tad more unhappy about Jaffox than you are. Question is, will it make your job easier, or harder?"

"Yes, if I can't be there to play on Tolar's dissatisfactions myself, might Jaffox not serve that role in my absence? It could be that Tolar only _thought_ he had it bad under Custis, and might now wish he were back to having just the Gawtrybe to contend with. Then again, from what our latest Sparra messenger tells us, Tolar still rules Foxguard, and his word is law there, second only to Urthblood's. And if Jaffox isn't even there, and really has moved on ... " Vanessa shrugged. "So many unknowns. I'll keep sending a sparrow there every day or two, but that's really all we can do for now. In the meantime, we'll just have to occupy ourselves with our side of the river. And that will keep us quite busy enough!"

"Too right, marm. An' it's good to know we've got sparrows to spare besides the ones we're dispatchin' across the Moss, to keep tabs on my runners - not that they're runnin' at the moment, at least not until they reach Grayfoot's. Once past there, tho', they'll be livin' up to th' bally name, an' it'll be right reassurin' to know they'll have eyes in the sky to help keep watch over them. Wonder wot kind of harassment they'll get from those Gawtrybe bullies?"

"I'm as concerned about the gulls harassing our Sparra as I am about those squirrels bothering your hares. But every one of our volunteers knew the risks when they agreed to this. On the whole, I anticipate no major problems. Urthblood's creatures remain intent on carrying out the Purge, as far as we know, and as long as we're seen doing nothing to hinder or interfere with that operation, or to overtly aid the rats of Mossflower who remain at large, we should draw no more than cursory attention from both gulls and Gawtrybe."

"Except that that's exactly wot we'll be doing, isn't it? And once th' bloomin' ball starts rollin' ... "

"We'll address that when and if we need to. For now, it will simply look like we're delivering supplies to Grayfoot - something we've done many times both before and since the Purge started - and paying friendly visits to some of the Mossflower locals, which would be a very Redwallian thing to do. And surely they couldn't object to any of that, could they?"


	16. Chapter XV

**XV.**

 **THE NORTH-SOUTH PATH**

"Ugh - reckon they could've made these flippin' packs any heavier, Sarge?"

Sergeant Twisher, marching at the fore of the Long Patrol quartet, hoisted at his own oversized haversack. "Quit that bellyachin', Tells. We're more'n halfway to Grayfoot's, an' nature's given us a beaut of a day for a little stroll like this. Clear blue skies, fresh breeze ... or wouldja rather be making this excursion through rain an' muck?"

Telemaque glanced skyward. "Clear blue skies, 'ee says. Nearly summer, with bally ol' Mister Sun at his highest an' longest, makin' every day feel like a scorcher when you hafta be out in it for any stretch, stompin' our stumps an' haulin' this weigh with no shade t' cool a chap off or provide some blessed relief. An' while the sky may be clear of clouds, Sarge, can't say th' same for the bally birdfolk - an' not all of 'em are our Sparra peepers. Right unsettlin', it is."

"Well, we've not been stopped or molested yet, an' we know wot to do if we are. So buck up, spine straight an' eyes forward, an' let's focus on gettin' where we hafta be, wot?"

"Spine straight?" choked a Patroller named Wilfehger. "Hunched under the weight o' these packs, an' we're s'posed t' keep our spines straight?!"

A short time later, as the four hares passed onto a stretch of the road overhung with close-pressing woods on their left, the encounter they'd thus far avoided finally came to pass as a pair of Gawtrybe dropped out of the trees onto the forest floor and stepped out onto the path before them.

"What's your business in this part of Mossflower?" one of the squirrels demanded.

"Wot's your sodden business in wantin' to know?" Telemaque challenged.

Sergeant Twisher held up a paw to settle his obstreperous underling. "Just a routine supply run down to Grayfoot's, like we've been doin' since long before you lot starting stinkin' up our woods. We help that maskface with most of wot he needs to keep that place runnin', don'tcha know; he'd prob'ly hafta fold up an' head back north if t'weren't for our bally generosity. So, if you'd kindly step aside an' stop clutterin' up this thoroughfare, we'll be on our jolly way, an' you can go back to persecutin' the innocent ratfolk of these parts - you know, wot you're good at."

"Four Long Patrol hares, serving as mere carriers?" the second squirrel asked suspiciously. "That doesn't sound right to me."

"An' why the twiggers not?" Twisher shot back. "We're as strong and burly as anybeast this side of an otter, an' far better suited to countryside ramblin' than those thicktails. Our legs're made for coverin' distances, so why wouldn't the Redwall leadership call on us when there's distance to be covered, an' goods to be delivered?"

"Yes, an' beautiful day for a walk, too," added Telemaque. "Fresh air, blue skies ... "

"Show us what's in those packs," the first squirrel ordered.

Twisher straightened into a pose of unmistakable resistance. "An' wot if we don't care to?"

"Then we'd be mighty suspicious, friend."

"Well, we jolly blinkin' wouldn't want that, would we?" Twisher unshouldered his pack, nodding for his three companions to follow his example. "If we don't let these treeleapin' bossywhiskers have a look for themselves, they'll pester us all the way to Grayfoot's, so may as well let 'em have a look now to satisfy their unwarranted suspicions. Packs off and flaps open, chaps!"

The two Gawtrybe wasted no time - and spared little delicacy - in diving into their inspection, delving deep into each haversack in turn, and quickly showing they weren't interested in a mere cursory examination. As the hares looked on with growing umbrage at the way their loads were being dismantled and laid out right in the middle of the road, Twisher barked, "Have a care there, louts! Our Abbey family took great whompin' pains to pack those up neat 'n' tight! No call for spillin' 'em out entirely!"

The squirrels stood unmoved by this plea. "Did he just call us louts?" the second airily asked his partner. "That's hardly the respect rated by Gawtrybe in service to Lord Urthblood. I've half a mind to report him."

"You've half a mind, period," Wilfehger grumbled.

The first squirrel, keeping his tone more businesslike, said to the hares, "Well do we remember how our own carts were violated during our stay at Redwall, without cause or justification, and against all forms of hospitality. How does it feel to be on the receiving end of such attentions?"

"First off, chum," Twisher replied frostily, "that inspection was carried out by Alexander's squirrels and Monty's otters; we Long Patrol had not a flippin' thing to do with it, much as we would've liked to. Secondly, that took place within Redwall, where our defenders have every bally right to peek into wotever somebeast brings into our home - 'specially if it's entire cartloads of suspicious contraband our own guests are being all mysterious about. Turned out you were keepin' secrets from us after all, about hidden squirrel fortresses an' Realms an' the Purge an' who knows wot else, so ended up we were justified in wot we did on that occasion ... an' given wot's gone on since, you Gawfiends've got not one blinkin' shred o' moral high ground to stand on. Which brings me to Point Three: these paths an' byways belong to all Mossflower's creatures, to travel freely as they please, without fear of bein' subjected to stops and searches by intruders who don't even belong in these parts. Can't compare wot happened inside our Abbey walls with th' borderline brigandry an' bullyin' you're so spitefully showin' us now, chum."

"Well, that's where you're wrong," the first squirrel said, refusing to be goaded as he held up a sheet of fabric for scrutiny, heedless of how he broke it out of its primly-folded compactness to study it and then cast it aside in the dirt road in an undignified rumple. "Our mandate covers all foot traffic along this route, as well as the forest paths, and gives us the right to waylay and inspect anybeast we deem worth the effort. And considering the recent activities of certain Abbeybeasts out in the Western Plains, you're lucky all we're doing is making a bit of a mess for you to clean up after."

Twisher scowled, his own expression perfectly matching those of his three compatriots as he stood with arms folded across his chest. "One of these days, you might just run into some honest travellers who won't be so jolly obligin' in showin' you wot they're carryin'."

"Oh, they'll oblige, if they know what's good for them. And you're not exactly being jolly in your cooperation."

"The Abbot 'n' Abbess will hear of this," Twisher swore as he regarded the growing clutter of foods and fabrics filling the road. "Mark my words, they will."

"Go running back to your mouse friends and tattle on us all you want. Lord Urthblood's mandate trumps all else in Mossflower these days - even the sad little authority of your Abbot and Abbess."

"Don't be too sure o' that," Twisher said, thinking of some of Vanessa's recent actions.

"Just what is all this anyway? This doesn't look like the kind of food Grayfoot serves in his tavern."

"We're helpin' him diversify his menu - at his request. Ask him yourself if you don't believe us."

"Maybe we will. I'd think he'd be more interested in drinks and beverages than what you've got here."

"We've already got some of our 'hogs down there helpin' him with that. This supply run's for his larders, not his cellars."

The first squirrel nodded. "That's true. I was just at Grayfoot's yesterday, an' saw your 'hogs there myself, so at least that part of your story holds up. What of all these sheets and sacks?"

"New bedcovers for Grayfoot's guest rooms, with matchin' pillow cases, compliments of Redwall. 'Course, now that you've cast 'em all about the place, they'll need to be laundered again before they can be used."

"Then Grayfoot's dimwit wife can make herself useful washing them. Fur knows, she's not much good for anything else beyond simple housekeeping. Okay, we're done here. Get this mess cleared up and be on your way ... and make it snappy. We can't have impediments like this inconveniencing honest journeybeasts!"

Wilfehger, paws clenched into angry fists, seemed about to lunge at the offending Gawtrybe, but Twisher held out a paw of restraint. "Hold steady there, chap. A dust-up might be just wot these rude ruffians want to get their shafts out of their quivers."

"There's four of us an' only two of 'em, sir," Wilfehger muttered. "If we all jumped 'em at once, they wouldn't have time to nock shaft to string ... "

"An' bring down all Urthblood's gulls on us, not t' mention any more o' these brushtails who're lurking in the woods hereabouts? We'd never make it back to the Abbey alive. We've lost enough hares this season, no need to lose any more over a spot of bullyin', wot?"

"Aye," Telemaque agreed, "these vermin in squirrels' clothes definitely aren't worth it."

The second squirrel hefted a bag from the hares' scattered stocks. "Hey, lookit! Candied chestnuts!"

"Ah, these're fine. Remember sampling them fondly during my own stay at Redwall. We'll just claim this bag for ourselves, as restitution for our inspection labors. Have fun with your repacking, friends, but remember, we'll be watching you, so don't try anything funny."

The four Long Patrol fussed and fumed as they got to shaking the road dust from the sheet and refolding them while the Gawtrybe patrol melted back into the tress, from where they would no doubt hold true to their threat to keep the hares under surveillance.

"Nerve o' those nitpickin', vindictive, petty treewallopers!" Telemaque growled. "Puttin' us out like this, just to settle a score that wasn't even with us, then abscondin' with some of our prime munchies too! Colossal cheek!"

"Cheek is right," Wilfehger agreed. "Such bald audacity, their cheeks've prob'ly got cheeks of their own!"

Twisher held his stoic silence and refrained from joining in, actually somewhat relieved to have his hares venting their spleen so openly. The retreated Gawtrybe would likely still be able to hear this complaining from their hiding place in the trees, or at least catch snatches of it, and such a display of attitude would fit perfectly with their cover as innocent travellers who'd been unjustly harassed upon their way.

"Sir, this's gonna take all morning," Wilfehger said as he struggled with a "pillowcase."

"Then it takes all morning, Wilsy," the Sergeant retorted as he and Telemaque grappled with another blue "bedsheet" between the two of them. "We're not on any bally schedule or deadline. We'll get to Grayfoot's when we get there; his tavern's not goin' anyplace. Let's just be thankful those hooligans only made off with one bag of candied chestnuts an' didn't rob us blind!"

It took longer than any of them would have liked, and the efforts of trying to repack their four haversacks right there in the road resulted in a job far lumpier and more haphazard than the neat arrangements of the Abbey mice, but it would be good enough to deliver their loads the rest of the way to Grayfoot's, and eventually they were underway again. Noontide saw the close-pressing woods on their left fall away behind them to be replaced by open fields and meadows, and there up ahead appeared the very inn they sought.

The ferret greeted them at the door, appraised of their delay by the Sparra scouts who'd been shadowing the hares' progress. "Come in, come in. Got four tankards o' cool ale already drawn an' waitin' on th' counter for you!"

Relieved to be in the blessed dim recesses of the tavern from out of the hot sun, and freed from their burdens as well, Twisher's small squad settled their scuts on stools and gratefully quaffed their complimentary ale. Then, having caught their breath and slaked their thirsts, they got down to business.

The Abbey hedgehogs and moles who'd already been helping Grayfoot with his cellars gathered around as the hares unpacked their sacks and laid everything out on the bar. Assured by Grayfoot that Judelka was out back with Percy where neither mother nor child were likely to overhear, Twisher launched into his little lecture.

"As you can see, all these foodstuffs were carefully selected by Friar Hugh an' ourselves as prime travel provisions, naught that'd spoil or crumble or be too ungainly to take along on a days-long march. Vittles for scoffin' on th' run, they are, compact an' lightweight but high in nutrition an' energy - just wot any ratfaced fugitive would need. An' as for how they'll be carryin' it all ... "

Twisher plucked up one of the pretend pillowcases, its blue coloration apparent even in the dimness of the tavern's interior. With the flick of a wrist he inverted it, so that the eye-catching azure hue was now hidden on the inside, the exterior rendered into a drab, nondescript patchwork of irregular greens and browns.

"Instant travel sacks, easy as y' please! Camouflaged, too, so they'll blend in easy with almost any outdoor surrounding. We brought along enough tuck for at least eight to ten well-stuffed packs, so you c'n get to preparin' those soon as you see fit. An' to top it all off ... "

Setting down the pillowcase/camouflaged travel sack and taking up one of the much larger sheets of similar material, Twisher displayed it with outstretched arms. "Here we have your travel cloaks. Hadta disguise 'em as bedsheets in case we were stopped an' inspected, so they're a bit on th' large side, but cuttin' each one in half ought to make 'em just the right size for a wearable cloak, at least for an adult rat. Leave it up to you whether you want to make any smaller, in case you get any rat lads or lasses in here, that's your call. As you c'n see, it's the same material as the cases, a fetching blue on one side an' dull green 'n' brown on the other. With the pillowcases only showin' their blue side, the Gawtrybe who stopped us didn't even pay attention to the backsides of the sheets that weren't blue. Abbess predicted they'd overlook it, on the lookout for more obvious contraband, an' she was right. Snuck it by right under their snivelin' noses!"

Grayfoot shot a nervous glance toward the front door. "Still a little apprehensive 'bout all this. What if they was t' burst in here right now?"

"Wot would they see? Nothing they've not see already - just food for your larders, an' coverin's for your beds." Twisher snapped the inverted pillowcase back to its blue exterior so that it once more resembled what it was masquerading as. "That's the bally beauty of it all, wot? All just the innocent trade of an innocent barkeep!"

"Until they notice I ain't made up any o' my beds with these new sheets 'n' cases, or that I ain't servin' any of th' vittles you just brought me."

"Easily enuff solved, chap. Make up just one of your guest rooms upstairs with these new threads, an' make sure any Gawtrybe who drop by for the night get that room. Keep some o' this tuck set aside too, to serve any of 'em who specifically ask for it, which I'm guessin' won't be many, since anybeast stoppin' at an establishment such as this would more likely seek a full-cooked meal rather than simple travel provisions of the sort we brought. Either that, or they'll just be lookin' to wet their whistles, an' you've got that jolly well covered!"

"They did seem rather fond of those candied chestnuts," Wilfehger put in. "P'raps we'd best make sure our ferrety friend here's always flush with a supply of those, to help put his Gawtrybe visitors off th' bally scent."

"Good thinkin' there, Wills. We can fly down surplus stocks of those by Sparra, see to it there's always plenty here to keep those brushtails happy an' unsuspicious."

Telemaque gave a snort. "Leave it up to those feathered feedbags to ferry around their own favorite treat? We'd be lucky if a single glazed nut reaches this tavern!"

"Then we'll just hafta feed 'em well ourselves before we send 'em out, won't we?"

"We're still only really talkin' about half the game here, aren't we?" said Grayfoot with a worried frown. "This is all from our end, what we gotta do t' help the rats that get here. But first they gotta get here."

"That'll be phase two, an' good news for you is, you get to sit tight for that part, 'cos that will fall squarely on our bally shoulders," Twisher explained. "We'll either get 'm to you, or we won't, so naught for you to worry your stripy-faced head about over that. Could be that after all this laborious prep work we've done here, not a single one of those ratsnouts'll even make it this far. But we've gotta be prepared if they do - which is why we're startin' here, before widenin' this out farther, don'tcha know."

"An' if some do make it here, an' there's Gawtrybe hot on their tails, shadowin' 'em?"

"Then I wager our treejumpin' friends'll come bursting in here to seize 'em ... an' you'll give 'em up with a smile, since th' whole point's not to implicate you in any way. Gotta make it look like any fugitives who find their way here are fleein' for the Plains in blind desperation, not aimin' themselves your way with any clear purpose in mind. We'll do what we can from our end to keep them as clueless as we can, so nobeast can point a paw of accusation at you."

"That's where I s'pect we'll help you," put forth an Abbey hedgehog named Drewry. "Even if word does get out that there's somebeasts here willin' t' aid fleein' rats, an' even if that word does reach the ears of th' Gawtrybe, their immediate suspicions might fall on us, not you. Just a bunch o' meddlesome Redwallers causin' more trouble, plottin' behind yer back an' without yer knowin' when you wasn't lookin'. That way, if th' hammer ever does fall, we can step forward an' take all th' blame, leavin' you in th' clear."

"That's takin' a pretty big risk yerselves," said Grayfoot. "The Gawtrybe won't be easy on anybeast they catch actively workin' against 'em, whether it's me or you."

"Pah! Just let 'em try'n do anything 'gainst a Redwaller! They don't know what trouble is!"

Grayfoot found it hard to share the hedgehog's confidence. "Oh, they know what trouble is, a'right. Mainly 'cos they're th' ones who usually bring it. An' if you don't think Urthblood's forces're willin' t' cause grief to Abbeybeasts, just remember what happened out on th' Western Plains this very season."

"Which is why deniability's gotta be the key thing we strive for, wot?" Twisher reminded them. "An' we'll do wotever we can to keep that in place. Might not be easy, spreadin' word through lower Mossflower lettin' rats know this tavern's a safe place to come without lettin' em know _why_ it's safe, or givin' too much away, but it's all in the wording, don'tcha know. Abbess had some very specific pointers for us t' follow in that sense, so we should be able t' pull this off."

Grayfoot smirked. "The Abbess, huh? Does Geoff even know about any of this?"

"Wot that bookish mouse don't know won't hurt him, wot? Like I just said, it's all about bally deniability."

"Hrm. An' what of any rats who do make it as far as my inn, without bein' spotted by th' Gawtrybe, or th' gulls? Where do they go from here?"

"Well, you could always suggest the Abbey, tho' they'd be exceedin'ly lucky to make it through the cordon there, even travellin' by night, layin' low in th' day an' takin' all other conceivable precautions. But we're working on an alternative, that we are, one which we'll hopefully have ready an' in place before a single ratface drags its scaly tail 'cross your threshold."

"An' if it's not? What do I do? Where do I tell 'em t' go?"

"West. Tell 'em t' go west, inta th' Plains, if they don't wanna risk Redwall. Give 'em what y' got to give 'em, tell 'em t' lie low an' use wot they've got an' exercise wotever caution got 'em this far, an' to keep their wits about 'em until more help can reach 'em. Other than that ... just wish 'em luck, 'cos that's about all any of us can do otherwise, wot?"

 **FOXGUARD**

Ambassador Tibball still didn't have his uniform yet. But, all things considered, he wasn't complaining.

The departure and continued absence of Jaffox and his vulpine ruffians - and the additional fivescore Gawtrybe who'd come down from the north with them - served as a calming balm to the rabbit's daily existence at Foxguard even as it also provided fuel for his angst over the certainty that they must someday return. Thus did he continue to savor his time here with the more palatable foxes of Tolar's brigade, and Mona too, whilst tolerating as best he could the arrogant insufferability of Captain Custis and the Northland squirrels who remained at the fortress. But since they met his tolerance with near-total indifference, this view of each other as non-entities seemed to satisfy both.

That indifference on the Gawtrybe captain's part had been summed up most succinctly on the occasion when Custis had stated, right in front of Tibball as if the diminutive woodlander hadn't even been there, "I still don't see why Tolar feels the need for such a thing, when we Gawtrybe stand perfectly capable of serving as Lord Urthblood's ambassadors to this part of Mossflower." And if he failed to see why Tolar might wish to have such a goodwill envoy of his own for himself and his foxes, well then Custis simply failed to see it, and that was that.

The biggest drawback to the squirrels' lingering presence was their insistence on keeping the walltop and high watches to themselves, exclusive of any of the swordfoxes ... which didn't prevent Tolar from ordering representatives of his own species to stand lookout duty in these places as well, especially in light of the Matowick incident at Redwall. But this still kept the Gawtrybe concentration in those areas thick enough to dissuade Tibball from seeking them out for his own sightseeing pleasure, and if he wasn't quite sure he wanted to tempt his constitution with another journey to the sky-dwelling observation deck just yet, at least the low ramparts encircling the fortress grounds provided a more modestly-elevated vantage from which to view the surrounding countryside - a view now denied him unless he wished to rub elbows with the squirrel archers who dismissed him as an irrelevant afterthought in the most thorough and belittling way possible.

All of which left Tibball feeling as cooped up and stir crazy as any rat refugee presently occupying Redwall's lawns. Foxguard offered very little in the way of diversion for a fairly timid woodland rabbit, and once idyll sightseeing was removed from that limited roster of pastimes as well, the stronghold truly did begin to feel like a prison to the would-be Ambassador, cut off from the world outside even by sight, in spite of his freedom to leave Foxguard whenever he wished.

Thus did he seek out Tolar on this day down on the parade grounds, where the disciplined swordsbeasts kept to their training regimen now that they were all back at Foxguard. Finding the chieftain actively engaged in drills along with Roxroy and some of the cadets, Tibball stood well aside until this latest bout of blade-flashing subsided somewhat, and he could take the fox Sword aside for a private word without fear of getting accidentally sliced to ribbons.

"Ah, good Tibball!" Tolar greeted, sheathing his weapon with easy confidence. "We don't usually see you out here to take in our drills. Enjoying the show, I trust?"

"It's ... impressive, as always. But I'm really not here for that. I ... I think it's time for me to begin my duties that you took me on for."

"Truly? But you've not yet received your uniform from Redwall."

"Yes, well, clearly they must be busy with other things. All those rats and Abbeybeasts to keep clothed, you know. I'm sure they'll get to it when they get to it. But I'd always seen it as a more ceremonial outfit anyway, a bit of pomp and decoration for receiving visitors here. It wouldn't be very practical for my field work, would it? I mean, I can't very well go running back and forth through these woods dressed up like a costumed dignitary, can I?"

"I rather thought that was the point. But, if you're more comfortable sticking with ordinary woodlander garb for your diplomatic forays, that's entirely your choice. I trust you've been finding your accommodations here satisfactory?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, no cause for complaint at all on that score. I'm actually surprised you were able to set me up with an office of my own, with attached private quarters. I wouldn't have thought you could spare the space, what with so many creatures staying here now, and more undoubtedly on the way."

"Ah. You're worried about Jaffox, aren't you? You want to be out of here before he returns."

"Well, the idea does have some certain undeniable appeal, yes."

"It's true that his absence did make it easier to get you set up here, I will grant you that. I suspect it would not have sat so well with him, ceding you the space I did even as he was agitating for more indoor quarters for his own foxes. But I still run Foxguard, as I will pointedly remind him every time he forces me to, and your offices will remain yours for as long as you agree to perform in the capacity for which we have engaged you. Still, I can see why he would intimidate you and put you ill at ease, so I can understand you wanting to be off."

"I just hope I don't run into him while making my rounds out in the woods ... "

"I don't see much chance of that; the horde Jaffox seeks to tame lies to the northeast, so as long as you stay to the south of Foxguard, you should be able to avoid him and his squad, and the Gawtrybe who went with him. I can't speak for Custis's squirrels, however; they seem to be covering those reaches of Mossflower rather thoroughly. There's even a chance that your Ambassadorial wanderings will uncover the location of Gawdrey, which would put you a step ahead of us."

"You haven't been able to spot it yet, even from the towertop?"

Tolar shook his head. "No, but that's not entirely surprising, since it would likely be built in the canopy but below the treetops, blended right into the forest itself. I'd thought we might be able to locate it by downed trees around it needed to construct its walls and floors, but it seems our squirrel friends are showing great caution to not give themselves away even in that. They must be taking trees from a very wide area and hauling them back to the construction site. I'm fairly certain Gawdrey must lie somewhere to the south, and probably on this side of the Moss, although we can't even be sure of that. It appears they'll let us know the location of their fortress when and if they deign to, and until then we'll be kept guessing. So, when will you want to be leaving, and will you want any of my foxes to go with you?"

"Hmm. I've actually been giving that a good deal of thought, I have, and honestly I can see both sides. Having swordfoxes with me might scare away some of the very folk we're trying to win over, but on the other paw, if I show up alone, claiming to represent Foxguard, will I even be believed? At the very least, I imagine it might make it harder to exercise my authority. So, yes, I think I will accept an escort of your foxes. If you can spare them, that is."

"Yes, I'm sure we can get by here with a couple fewer. We'll make do."

"Very good. Excellent. I think I'd like to be off this very day, if it can be managed."

"I don't think that will be a problem. I'll accompany you to the kitchens now so your travel provisions can be prepared right away, while I mull over which foxes to send with you. Do you have any idea where you'll start once you leave Foxguard?"

"Well, I do like your suggestion of establishing contact with some of the otter holts along the Moss first, since you've already had dealings with them and they might be more willing to cooperate with us than most other woodlanders. Who knows? Maybe I could convince some of them to join me on my rounds. Having otters along couldn't hurt our cause, not at all. And even if they decline, they're quite sociable and widely-travelled, so they should be able to point us in the right direction as far as where to find other folks who might be open to listening to my message. One step at a time, and I'm not on any deadline, so I'll just follow along wherever providence leads me!"

"As good an approach as any, I'd say. Do you think you'll stop by your own kin, and perhaps ask their help in spreading this word as well?"

Tibball's ears twitched along with his whiskers. "Well, I'm not too entirely sure about _that_ , Sword. My relations are perhaps a bit more traditionally rabbitty than I am, if you know what I mean, and might just as soon prefer not to involve themselves in anything like this. Besides, I think my old warren might be one place I _would_ want to be wearing my uniform if I were to stop by there. I'd hardly impress them in these old threads, would I?"

The two had already started toward the fortress when a commotion from the south walltop caught Tolar's attention. "Hrm - I'd best go see what that's about. You go on ahead to the kitchens to begin your preparations, and I'll be there shortly - I hope."

"Yes, Sword." Tibball scampered off to see to his provisions while Tolar strode toward the outer wall where the Gawtrybe were calling out and demonstrably gesticulating.

If the forest had been cleared well back to make room for Foxguard, it had now been cleared just a little bit more as the Gawtrybe felled additional trees to construct the prisoner barges Custis and Jaffox had agreed upon. Three of those simple lashed-timber vessels now took shape outside the fortress walls, ready to be dropped into the canal or river and put to use when the need arose - which might not be for some time, since the latest batch of rats had just been ferried across the Moss on Foxguard's own modest raft the day before and delivered to Captain Choock's shrews, some of whom now escorted them to the coast.

Even Tolar had to admit to the inefficiency of the present arrangement, and concede that moving the captive rats by river made far more logistical sense, especially if considerable numbers of rats remained to be rounded up and transported. And with no shortage of trees in Mossflower - and no shortage of woodcraft-skilled Gawtrybe equipped with the tools of their forestry trade - as many rafts could be wrought as necessary. The downside, at least where Tolar was concerned, was that this would make Foxguard a key transit point, with all the apprehended rodents passing through here on their journey from freedom to delivery to Tratton. Tolar saw an immediate future of his cellar dungeons seeing far greater use than ever before, the cells packed to bursting until each new bargeful was ready to be off. He supposed Gawdrey might serve such a purpose as well, except he didn't know how close the squirrel fortress was situated to the Moss, or if it even contained detention facilities of its own ... and he also suspected Custis would not want to give away Gawdrey's position to so many creatures able to share that closely-guarded information with anybeast they happened to encounter - including the searats. No, for now it looked like Foxguard was to become the focal point of the Purge in Mossflower, at least until the operation here was mostly concluded and moved south.

Attaining the walltop, the fox Sword beheld the Gawtrybe there engaged in another activity of theirs that he frowned upon. Casting ropes down along the outward-curved wall face, their companions could come and go without having to detour all the way around to the stronghold's sole entryway. While it was likely that no other species lacking the squirrels' arboreal dexterity could defeat the supposedly-unscalable wall quite so blithely, it nevertheless rankled Tolar to witness this display, as if a shortcoming of Foxguard had been discovered and the Gawtrybe revelled in blatantly flouting it on a daily basis.

Several of the junior swordfoxes standing walltop watch along with the Gawtrybe had wandered over to this spot as well at the sound of the commotion, and now Tolar and his fellow vulpines stood watching Corporal Arway and a pair of his fellow squirrels from Gawdrey being pulled up the outer wall to the low ramparts by their rope-bearing comrades. The corporal glanced about in search of his commander. "Where's Captain Custis?"

Tolar stepped forward. "Last I saw, he was consulting with Mona over what medicines and healing supplies Gawdrey ought to be stocked with. What news do you bear, Corporal?"

"Only the very best kind, Sword - as I'm sure you'll agree. Gawdrey is finished! Or at least nearly enough so that the bulk of our forces can relocate there now to finish the job whilst we fully furnish and establish our stronghold. The move can begin at once."

"Hmm. News indeed. But why did you feel the need to come all the way here to deliver it yourself? Why not send a bird, who could have brought us these tidings far faster?"

"Perhaps you forget how quickly we Gawtrybe can fly through the treetops ourselves," Arway replied, somewhat piqued by Tolar's rather prosaic reaction to his grand announcement. "Not much time would have been saved by sending a winged messenger. But more to the point, I felt news of such magnitude ought to be imparted by the senior squirrel on site who'd been overseeing construction. It felt only proper to do so."

"Your choice, of course. Come along then, and let's see if we can't seek out your captain together. I should be there as well when he receives your report, in case he needs to consult with me on departure preparations. And, of course, Lady Mina will need to be fully appraised of the situation so she can decide whether to accompany you to Gawdrey or dwell here at Foxguard a while longer."

"She ... may wish to abide here with you some time yet, until Gawdrey is fully ready to receive a beast of her standing. Its current state of completion is adequate for warriors accustomed to field duty, but may not I fear meet her own standards."

"Mina considers herself a warrior as much as any Gawtrybe who's ever set shaft to bowstring - and I suspect she might take no small affront at being regarded with such ... delicacy."

Arway showed some abashment at a non-squirrel showing more on-target insight into their High Lady than he had. "You're most probably right, Sword. Lady Mina has never shied from what needs to be done, in peace or war, under conditions easy or harsh. I stand corrected."

"Then let us both stop standing, and seek out Custis and Mina without further delay." As fox and squirrel made their way along the walltop to the stairs, Tolar remarked, "Gawdrey must not be too far then, if you elected to come here yourself rather than dispatch Klystra or one of the gulls."

"As I have said, Sword, we Gawtrybe can make very good time through the forest canopy ourselves. My presence here is not necessarily a reflection on how close or distant Gawdrey lies from Foxguard." Arway's gaze fell to the spreading fortress grounds before them as they descended the open stairs. "So, is it true what I've heard about Jaffox coming down to Mossflower from the North?"

"It's true," Tolar admitted ruefully.

"Then it must also be true what I heard about him bringing another fivescore Gawtrybe with him to aid us with our resettlement campaign here, and yet I see no sign of either them or the fox brigade of his own Jaffox surely must have brought along with him."

"They're not here," Tolar explained. "They went to bring in that horde in the valley to the northeast - the one where all the rats at Redwall came from."

"Ah. Well, if anybeast can bring in a wayward horde, it's Jaffox. Pity he wasn't here before those rats made it to the Abbey, or we'd be looking at a very different and vastly improved situation right now."

"Yes. I'm sure."

Striding across the practice grounds with Arway at his side, Tolar inwardly reflected on the unfortunate timing Tibball would suffer on this occasion. Just as the rabbit readied to depart from Foxguard for his first round of diplomatic visits and leave the Gawtrybe behind, it now appeared those squirrels would be flooding out into Mossflower en masse right along with him.


	17. Chapter XVI

**XVI.**

 **IN THE VALLEY**

Bryn was just about ready to call it quits on his short-lived career as a horde leader.

For the better part of a half-season he'd done his best to assert his authority over this valley in the wake of the rat exodus, trying whatever he could to instill unity and discipline and sense of purpose amongst the weasels and foxes who remained, gathering up the loose ends Harth had left him and striving valiantly to tie them up into a cohesive whole again. It hadn't been hard with the wives and maids and young ones, content as always to keep to their daily chores and play and accept the rule of whatever leadership the male fighters worked out between them, pointedly excluding themselves from all matters of succession; regardless of which would-be tyrant called himself lord of this valley, clothes still had to be washed and mended and meals still needed to be prepared, and such tasks would not take care of themselves. The vixens presented somewhat more of a problem, rallying around Joska and her sisters and holding themselves above all the other civilians and domestics, refusing to help out with most menial labors and refusing to do much else either besides cluster around the false seer and bolster her standing in the horde, however nebulous a place that might be nowadays.

Somehow, Snosso still lived, managing to avoid assassination by his fellow dogfoxes, in spite of the pronounced limp he now displayed with every step he'd take between now and the end of his seasons. Harth truly had done Bryn a favor when the rat General's archers slew Negril - one of the few beasts here ruthless and ambitious enough to have directly challenged the ferret for the chieftain's role - and lamed Snosso, forever ruining the fox's ability to command the kind of respect which would ever make him leader of anything. The only open challenge had come from a weasel named Lacunga, a close companion and confidant of Negril's who saw his friend's death as an opening for another of their species to step up and seize control, and saw Bryn as vulnerable in the early stages of the transition of power. Joska, for reasons best known to herself, had weighed the situation and come down squarely on Bryn's side, ensuring that Lacunga died peacefully in his bed one night before he could press the situation into open conflict - a battle Bryn likely would have won anyway, being the superior fighter, although Lacunga and his cohorts could always have resorted to treachery themselves and taken Bryn by surprise, catching him unawares with a dagger between the ribs or a crossbow bolt between the eyes. But the vixen's treachery had struck first, and while Joska's poisons had spared the horde further infighting and perhaps saved it from an inferior and less deserving master, Bryn hated the idea of being in any way beholden to such a creature, even if Joska had acted in her own interests on this occasion.

On this morning, as he went through the motions of overseeing the battle drills with his fellow ferret and new second-in-command Moyd at his side, Bryn found himself wondering - and not for the first time - just how Krayne and Harth had done it. Making leadership seem so easy, holding the loyalty and dedication of their followers with effortless assurance - that was a special gift, Bryn now appreciated, an inborn natural trait that some creatures simply possessed and others didn't. And if he had to sum up the difference in one word, it would be doubt. Never for one moment had Krayne doubted he would launch an assault on the red tower and assemble a force to achieve this goal and emerge victorious from that contest as supreme conqueror of eastern Mossflower. Not for one moment had Harth doubted his ability as Krayne's strong arm to deliver the fighting force the would-be fox Emperor demanded .. and never had Harth doubted, after the coming of the rat prophetess and Krayne's death, that he would lead his fellow rats right up out of this valley and away to the sanctuary of Redwall. And with that level of innate confidence, Harth might well have succeeded in doing just that. It wasn't like Bryn could know what went on on the other side of the River Moss, and he wasn't about to dispatch anybeast to go there to find out.

 _Damn rats!_ he silently swore to himself as the line of foxes before him struggled to look entirely competent with their blades. Harth's desertion had indeed gutted the horde, dealing it an even greater blow than Krayne's death, leaving this pretend army still reeling and in search of purpose and direction. Bryn knew many if not most of the remaining beasts here bore the same grudge against the rodent species for this betrayal, and might just as soon slay on sight any rat they encountered in the wider woods out of pure spite as try to recruit them.

Of course, if the rat prophetess had been right, in another season there wouldn't be any rats left in Mossflower to slay or recruit.

Even without Krayne, Harth could have kept this horde together, maintained the now-flagging morale and discipline and kept their sense of purpose strong. Bryn knew it, and so did every other member of the horde. But now Krayne was gone, Harth and the rats were gone, and even their plans to assail the red tower had fallen by the wayside, largely forgotten in the wake of the prophetic proclamation that any such attack was doomed to fail - or, more to the point, would never happen. Only Joska, acting perhaps through some lingering and misguided feelings of competition with the rat seer who'd proven the more genuine of the two of them, still championed this lost cause, arguing to any who would listen that this dire prediction no longer pertained with the rats gone, the way once again cleared to assail the tower and win the triumph their former fox Emperor had envisioned. Perhaps she lacked Krayne and Harth's instinctive leadership skills as well, for she found few takers for this vision of glorious conquest she offered.

Disheartened by the lackluster exhibition of swordplay before him, Bryn shouted, "Is that th' best you c'n do? Put some gumption inta those swings! Wield those blades like y' know how t' use 'em, not like some wet-behind-the-ears pup with mother's milk on yer lips who're afraid o' their own shadows!"

Put off by this clumsy chastisement, but also too intimidated to call out their new commander to his face, the duelling foxes leaned into their drills with renewed vigor, if no greater skill ... and presently one sat yelping on the ground, clutching at the gash his heavy-pawed partner had inadvertently opened in his arm.

One weasel looking on turned to his fellow and remarked, "Krayne never woulda let _that_ 'appen."

"Nay, nor even that fur-soiled deserter Gen'ral Harth neither."

Catching their muttered imprecations, Bryn whirled on the two weasels. "What was that?! You got sumpthin' t' say?"

"Um, no, boss."

"Nay, we're jus' fine 'ere. Better'n ol' Croddick's doin' ... "

Realizing nothing was to be gained by further browbeating or outright punishing the pair who'd spoken out of turn, Bryn directed his attention back to the downed fox. "Okay, ev'rybeast take a breather fer a bit, an' somebeast go fetch a vixen to patch up Croddick's arm, 'fore he bleeds all over our drillin' grounds."

And into that lull strode a walking nightmare ... and the answer to all of Bryn's problems.

"'ey, look up there!" one of the weasel pair yelled, pointing up toward the valley rim. "Who's this comin' down 'ere?"

Within heartbeats, every head was turned in that direction, every eye beholding the line of strangers filing down the cliffside path with arrogant resolve, as if they were homecoming champions claiming their rightful place here.

Moyd sidled up closer to Bryn and whispered, "This gang looks like trouble if e'er there was any. Should we put th' troops on battle footin'?"

Bryn studied the descending intruders for long moments. "Have 'em all stand at attention fer now, an' be ready to act at my word, or if we're attacked. Looks like there's only a couple score of 'em at most, so we got 'em well outnumbered if the mean t' do more'n just talk."

"Yessir!' By the time Moyd had all the foxes, weasels, stoats and ferrets fully mustered and deployed in a defensive formation to meet any hostilities, the strangers had reached the valley floor and proceeded straight to where Bryn stood at the fore of his sorry army. They were foxes, every single one of them, outfitted in typical horde manner and clearly ruffians of the worst stripe ... and yet they also carried themselves with a military discipline Bryn had never seen from his own fighters, not even under Harth. They were here on a mission, their body language conveyed, and they meant to get right to it. But if the main body of foxes suggested trouble enough, the figure marching at their head was a world of trouble all its own: the biggest dogfox Bryn had ever seen, towering a full head and more above the tallest of his companions, and nearly as broad as a badger, appointed like a barbarian chieftain and armed to the hilt, massive paw resting easily on the sword at his waist which was just one of his several visible weapons. This was a terror who could have given Krayne himself a run for the leadership of any horde, and likely have bested the deceased fox Emperor.

The monster fox halted a half-dozen short paces from Bryn, betraying nothing to suggest he might be tensed for battle or ill at ease. Shifting his gaze from the ferret to Croddick, who stood having his arm bandaged by Joska's sister Iskra, the hulking vulpine dully observed, in a voice like iron sandpaper, "Havin' a problem here?"

"Who are you, an' whaddya want?" Bryn demanded, his position of authority mildly undermined by his need to tilt his head slightly upward to meet the newcomer's gaze.

"You in charge 'ere?"

"Aye, that I am."

"Good. Then ye're just th' one I wanna talk to. Now, 'fore we go any further, one liddle thing we gotta get outta th' way. My foxes an' me didn't come alone. Ye're surrounded, an' by fightin' beasts better'n any ye'll ever see. So unless y' wanna be slain to th' last beast of you, no stupid moves or empty bravery, got it?"

Well, that didn't take long, Bryn thought to himself. And while he wasn't sure he entirely believed this challenger's threat they they were surrounded - or his boast of the unseen enemy's superior fighting ability - the fact remained that these foxes had walked right down into this valley as if they owned the place, and laid down the gauntlet to an army outnumbering them three-to-one, all without displaying a moment's doubt or hesitation. They could not be so confident unless there were something to their claims - or unless they were totally mad, which would present its own set of problems, because madbeasts such as these could slay scores before they were all brought down. And Bryn would be at the head of the slaughtering line.

"You mean to take over this horde fer yer own?" Bryn said, stating what must have been obvious to all.

"That's the idea, friend. Now, whaddya have to say to that?"

A thousand thoughts and feelings tumbled through Bryn's mind, but in the end he needed no more than mere moments to formulate his reply, coming as it did almost of its own volition.

"Take it then. It's yers."

The big fox's eyes widened in bemused, world-weary yet cautious surprise. "Jus' like that?"

"Jus' like that. Mebbe ye'll have better luck makin' sumpthin' outta them than I did."

"Hmm. I'm almost disappointed. In the Northlands, I had to take many a horde leader's head - an' those of their lieutenants too - 'fore the rest would see reason an' join us. You just saved a whole lot o' lives. Gives me hope a reas'nable ferret like yerself might be just what I need."

"Not sure what it is y' need, but I'll not stand against you. We were all ruled by a fox once before, an' you look like you'd give our old chief a run fer th' game."

"That's mighty obligin'. But I'm less int'rested in rule than command, an' since I went to all th' trouble of arrangin' a demonstration to impress an' intimidate you lot when you showed me the resistance you had th' good sense not t' show after all, well, I'll give it anyway, just t' make sure you know where things stand ... "

The fox raised his left arm high over his head and twirled his paw three times. In a replay of the scene which had unfolded upon this very spot earlier that season when Harth sought to lead his rats up out of the valley and away from the horde, a volley of arrows showered down upon them. Except that two crucial differences marked this incident: every launched shaft fell safely outside the gathered creatures in an impressively neat circle, causing harm to nobeast, and these arrows numbered score upon score, in contrast to the dozen or so fired by Harth's archers.

A few of these arrows stuck point-first in the ground and stood quivering in mute testimony to the death they could have inflicted; the greater majority, however, found too much resistance from the dry, hard-stamped surface of the parade grounds and simply fell over, or even bounced and skittered on impact. The fox regarded the haphazardly-scattered shafts with mild disapproval. "Hmm. Might've been more impressive if they'd all stuck and stood, but ah well. You get the idea. An' now that you've seen what they can do, it's time fer you t' meet my allies."

Bryn and his fellow hordbeasts looked on in dumbstruck amazement as a hundred squirrels swarmed over the lip of the valley from both sides, rapidly descending the sheer cliff faces without even using the switchback trails in a gravity-defying display that left the onlooking weasels and foxes dizzy on their paws. Perhaps some of the squirrels were left dizzy by their own acrobatics too, but if so they hid it well as they took up position to encircle Bryn's fighters with grim and stolid determination.

The ferret commander looked from the squirrels to the barbaric fox. "I don't unnerstand. You got woodlanders servin' you?"

"Not me. We're allies, like I said. We both serve Lord Urthblood ... an' now you do too, if y' know what's good fer you."

"Lord Urthblood?"

"Badger Lord of Salamandastron, uncontested ruler of the western shores, tamer of the untameable Northlands, and master of the red tower you'd be able to see from here if you weren't all hidin' down in this valley. His prophecy carved by his own paw nearly thirty seasons ago in the rock throne room wall of his mountain fortress foretells a great crisis comin' fer all th' lands, an' he's taken all creatures into his service to meet it. So congratulations, friend - you've just become part o' sumpthin' bigger than you ever coulda imagined."

Bryn was even more confused than before. "Wait - a badger? You all serve a badger? An' you say he rules that red fox tower too? But you can't be from there ... we sent out scouts, we been watchin' that place, an' all their foxes wear those matchin' black uniforms, not ... well, what you lot're wearin'."

"Not alla Lord Urthblood's foxes came south for assignment in Mossflower. Some o' us stayed up in th' Northlands, bein' honest workin'-duty soldiers 'stead o' just playin' at it. An' some o' us don't need fancy uniforms t' get done what needs gettin' done. But now our latest campaign's got all paws on deck fer what needs doin' here. An' that's where you lot come in. Durin' his Northlands actions, Lord Urthblood obliterated ev'ry vermin horde an' band he came across, givin' 'em a simple choice: join him, or die. Lots died, lots more joined. An' once y' swear loyalty to that badger, you'd best stay loyal, if y' don't wanna end up on th' dyin' side. He sees things, knows things, an' can tell when ye're gonna turn traitor even 'fore y' know it yerself. It's a mighty army he's forged, spannin' all th' lands, like naught ever seen before. So, as Lord Urthblood's representative here negotiatin' on his behalf, I ask you simply - do you hereby swear loyalty an' allegiance to him, or would you rather go to yer graves?"

"We already said we'd accept yer rule, or command, or whatever y' wanna call it. Don't see as it make much diff'rence whether the orders come from you, or some badger above you. So yeah, we'll swear you our loyalty, if that's what it takes t' make it official."

The hulking fox gave a triumphant grin which only made him appear all the more monstrous. "You just made history, friend. Don't think even Lord Urthblood 'imself ever brought in an entire horde without havin' to slay a single beast of 'em. I was fully prepared an' expectin' to take some heads here, but you've saved me th' trouble."

"Hope I didn't disappoint you then. You look like you've taken more'n a few heads in yer time."

"More'n I c'n count."

"Hrm. Emp'ror Krayne liked takin' heads too. The two o' you might've got on fine - tho' I 'spect you'da taken his head in the end. So whadda we call you, now that ye'll be th' one givin' us our orders?"

"Name's Jaffox, but you can call me 'sir.' An' you are?"

"Bryn."

"You got a rank, Bryn?"

"Um ... no, not really."

"Well, you do now. Lieutenant Bryn. Can't bump you no higher'n that, since captain's th' highest rank Lord Urthblood allows. An' since your gang here's used to you, might as well keep you in charge of 'em. Make things a whole lot easier."

"Cap'n's the highest, huh? Take it that's what you are?"

Jaffox grinned evilly. "Naw, I'm sumpthin' else entirely. Some jobs're too dirty fer any rank, an' those're the ones Lord Urthblood saves fer me. So, now that we've got yer new loyalties all settled, let's go an' get - "

A moaning and chanting from beyond the circle of squirrels made Jaffox pause, the sound drawing everybeast's gaze. The Gawtrybe parted, and through that gap in their cordon stepped Joska and her sister Iskra, the Seer vixen's features painted with the otherworldly soot mask of her rituals as she swung her smoking herbal pendant from its chain.

"What th' fur is that s'posed t' be?" Jaffox drawled.

"Our Seer," Bryn admitted, almost as a confession. "Krayne kept 'er on, an' she's stayed on, even after 'ee died. Ain't really used 'er much m'self. She's all yers if y' want 'er."

"Hrmm ... "

Joska stopped two paces before Jaffox, pretending to look through him with a gaze that saw beyond the world of flesh and blood even as she sought to study this new fox warlord and take his measure - no easy feat. Iskra hovered at her side, ready to attend, defend or retreat, as circumstances dictated. Swinging her fuming pendant before her to help obscure her craftily-assessing gaze, Joska intoned a standard verse to help set the stage and sell her act.

"Light of day and dead of night,

Blazing sun and pale moonlight,

Through it all my inner sight

Shows to me what's true and right ... "

Jaffox scowled and looked to Bryn. "That wasn't very good. Woulda thought she'd up her game fer distinguished visitors like us."

"Hey, at least she put t'gether a verse fer you. Most o' this season, since Krayne died, she ain't even bothered rhymin' her mumbo jumbo."

Joska disregarded this dispassionate commentary on her performance and forged ahead in hopes of winning over this formidable new presence in their midst. He looked far more commanding and competent than any of the second-rate rabble who'd been scrambling to hold this horde together in Krayne's wake, and if she could suitably impress him ...

"From the depths of realms beyond

Eldritch glimpse into the heart

Of creatures bold and brave and - URK!"

Jaffox had stepped forward at the vixen's further spouting of mystic inanities and, in one swift and savage motion, grabbed the swinging pendant by its hot, smoldering amulet and wrapped the chain around Joska's neck, practically throttling her with it. Yanking upward so hard that she was forced up onto her pawtips to keep from being strangled, Jaffox leaned right into her face and sneered, "Bet y' never foresaw I'd do _that_ , didjer?"

Her eyes screwed shut in panicked agony, Joska flailed her paws helplessly before her, protest made impossible by the chain choking off her voice.

"I've served a true creature of fate 'n' destiny," Jaffox went on, "an' if you'd ever seen Lord Urthblood yerself, you'd have better sense than to insult any of his commanders with yer pathetic, superstitious shadow show. If that badger were here now, better'n even odds he'd slay you outta turn, after starin' straight inta yer soul an' seein' th' kinda beast y' really are."

Releasing her, he stood impassive as Joska fell back on her tail, gasping for breath while Iskra knelt down to make sure her older sister would recover. "Just so happens," the dogfox concluded, "I might have uses fer a kinda beast like you. Now go wash that soot off yer face - you look ridiculous!"

Iskra helped her stricken, shaken sister to her feet, and the two of them made an ignominious retreat to their tent on the outskirts of the parade grounds. Bryn regarded Jaffox with new respect; perhaps working with this fox wouldn't be so bad after all.

Watching with disdain as the two vixens withdrew, Jaffox asked the ferret, "Take it she's used to privilege 'round here? Wieldin' some influence too?"

"Aye," Bryn conceded. "Mostly under Emp'ror Krayne. Not so much these days, tho' bein' a vixen skilled in the healin' arts an' herbal lore, she still has her uses. An' with some o' our folk 'n' fighters bein' the superstitious sort, they're still a liddle intimerdated by 'er Seer's act. She can still scheme 'n' connive with the best of 'em t' get 'er way, when she really wants."

"Well, that stops today. Only influence she'll have 'round here from now on's what I tell her she has. An' if she gives me any grief about it, I'll put an end to her schemin' an' connivin' permanently. So, where were we? Oh, right - 'fore were get down to the logistical stuff an' reorderin' of yer humble horde here, one more thing I needed t' show you."

Striding all the way past the assembled horde to the far side of the militaristic gathering, Jaffox stopped in a barren spot with no creatures immediately around him, drew his sword and held it high aloft, circling it over his head just as he'd circled his upraised paw to summon the volley of squirrel arrows. Bryn and Moyd, having followed the fox to see what he was up to now, stood wondering what Jaffox meant to call down now. They didn't have to wonder for long.

Within moment of sending this latest signal, Jaffox smiled as the skies above the valley grew thick with white, fluttering forms. The gulls of Mossflower, at first just unobtrusively crossing this airspace one or two at a time whilst awaiting their summoning, now swarmed together as one, dozens strong as they descended to land in a wide half-circle around the beast who now commanded every creature in this valley.

Bryn and Moyd and the rest of their hordebeasts around them stared agog at this unexpected avian display, the grounded seabirds standing staring back at them with piercing, uncompromising gazes while Jaffox held their center, a barbarian lord of winged and furred warriors both.

"Oh, did I ferget t' mention? Lord Urthblood owns th' skies too!"

00000000000

Bryn had, naturally, taken over Krayne's old tent in the wake of the fox Emperor's death and Harth's desertion, so that was where they convened now at Jaffox's bidding. The imposing, throne-like chair favored by Krayne now sat pushed aside in one corner, the present military planners occupying more ordinary seats pulled up around the strategy table.

In the past, Krayne had employed this table to display crude maps of the woods around Foxguard, his intended target, and also of the territory immediately around the valley itself, to help with defense, scouting and foraging, for food ... and for recruits. Now, a far more detailed and elaborate tactical map lay spread out upon its surface, showing all of northeast Mossflower, from the edge of the wastes and the mountain of Icetor south to the region of Foxguard and Redwall, and from the shores of the Eastern Sea west to the fringes of the Western Plains and the woodlands northwest of the Abbey. Every notable landmark was depicted, from the River Moss and its fords and tributaries to the main north-south path, along with glades, valleys, cliffs, ridges, lakes, waterfalls, caves, caverns ... as well as every remaining rat settlement, village and family grouping the gull and Gawtrybe scouts had been able to locate.

The horde officers sat astonished as Jaffox related the war between Urthblood and Tratton, the Accord which both had signed to end hostilities - and the provision of the Accord promising the Searat King all the rats of the lands in exchange for freeing his woodland slaves. Bryn and Moyd and the ranking weasel Bogdan and the stoat Rejuna, along with Snosso, who'd somehow managed to maintain his position as ranking fox in spite of his laming, all stared at Jaffox and the squirrel Sergeant Collijack with new awe and understanding, as comprehension fully dawned on them.

"The ratmaid was right," Bryn said, his gaze going back and forth between the auburn-furred fox and squirrel from the North. "'Bout the whole forest turnin' red, an' no rats bein' left in Mossflower a season from now. Ye're actshully gonna make it happen ain'tcher? Won't be disease ner disaster that makes it come about - it's you."

"That's the plan," Jaffox replied with confident coolness.

"Impossible!" spat Snosso. "I don't berlieve it!"

Jaffox fixed the other fox with an acid stare, a hint of hotness creeping into his cool demeanor. "Impossible, y' say? Well, it ain't. It's already been done in the Northlands, which are nearly as big as Mossflower. I know, 'cos I was there t' see it. I was a part of it. An' now that whole region's been swept clean o' rats, almost down to th' very last one of 'em, an' any that're left won't hold out fer long. We got enuff forces shifted south now t' do it all over again in Mossflower - an' that's exactly what we mean t' do. You lucky gents'll get to have a front row seat in this campaign, since you'll be joinin' me in scourin' the forestlands north of Redwall an' Foxguard - unless ye're sympathetic to the species that ran out on you, left you high 'n' dry with a big chunk o' yer army missin', an' left at least one o' you hobblin' an' wobblin'." He addressed this last part toward Snosso, having briefly heard of that incident from Bryn before this meeting had fully convened.

Snosso's face twisted. "Naw, no sympathies 'ere. I'll do yer biddin' in this, an' gladly too. Lemme at 'em, an' they'll rue th' day they crossed this fox!"

"What of Gen'ral Harth, an' the rats of ours he led away from us?" Bryn asked, mindful as Snosso seemed not to be that the particular rodents his fox comrade begrudged might not be within their reach anywhere in the proposed action. "He said he was makin' fer Redwall. Did 'ee ever reach it, an' did them mice ever let 'im in?"

Jaffox scowled, and Sergeant Collijack's expression nearly matched the grimace in sourness. "Yah, they made it, a'right, an' those fool Abbeybeasts let 'em in, too - right ahead o' when our resettlement campaign was set t' start. Just a day or two either way, them delayin' or us getting a jump on 'em, an' they'd be in Tratton's holds by now."

"You mean they're still there?" asked the weasel Bogdan. "At the H'Abbey?"

"They are. Claimin' the sanctuary o' Redwall." Jaffox spat the word "sanctuary" like an oath.

"An' those Abbeymice're lettin' 'em stay?" followed up Rejuna the stoat.

"Haven't kicked 'em out yet, tho' we can always hope, eh? Lord Urthblood values relations with Redwall too highly t' send us kickin' down their gates to roust those rats outta that place, but if th' Redwallers themselves ever change their minds an' put 'em out, we'll be there t' pick up the pieces. 'Til then, we'll have plenny of other rats t' keep us busy, so they're what we gotta worry about now."

Jaffox moved his paw along the map's surface, stabbing from point to point. "Sergeant Collijack's Gawtrybe who came down from th' North with me did some scoutin' throughout this part o' Mossflower as we passed through on our way to Foxguard, an' uncovered a few well-hid clusters o' ratdom that'd remained hidden 'neath th' trees from sight o' our gulls, an' no doubt we'll turn up others as we conduct our sweeps an' talk to other local beasts who might know of pockets we'd otherwise miss, but we'll start with th' ones we know about an' take it from there. Now, we're showin' one all-rat village here, an' two other villages of rats mixed with other species here 'n' here, plus smaller settlements here, here, here, here an' here, along with a score or so of isolated family groups scattered all throughout that quadrant. You'll notice none of 'em 're partic'larly close to this valley - I'll credit yer old chief Krayne with doin' a good job clearin' out the nearer woods in his own recruiting - an' not too near Foxguard or Redwall either, so that means there's a good chance none of 'em have caught wind yet of what's goin' on, an' what's about t' hit 'em. That kind o' surprise always works well in our favor in such operations, an' I aim t' use it to the fullest."

His paw continued to rove over the rumpled representation of northeast Mossflower. "We'll take our entire force straight through to the Eastern Sea, along this route here; we already got it mapped out, so shouldn't take too long if we don't dally. Once we're there an' have cleaned up these two seaside rat settlements, half our Gawtrybe will deploy in a wide arc across our northern front, then sweep down through that wedge of forest while th' rest of us move along a solid line from the east, eventually all meetin' up with our prisoners here at this point. Then we'll use that anchor point to do it again in a southern crescent sweepin' north again while our main force keeps pushin' west. We'll carve this whole region inta neat liddle pie slices we can manage easily, cleanin' out each one as we go, until we've worked our way north o' here an' all th' way out to the forest fringe where it ends at th' main north-south path. That's the territory we'll be moppin' up on this phase of the campaign: Ev'rything north o' Redwall an' Foxguard, 'tween th' road an' the eastern coast. So, basically, ev'rything shown on this map."

Jaffox looked up from the parchment to meet each gaze of every one of his new subcommanders. "I mean t' get this done in days. Not a season. Not half a season. Days. This'll free up the rest of th' Gawtrybe in Mossflower to concentrate of clearin' out the woods east an' south o' Foxguard - which they've already made a decent start of - but once we finish our liddle patch here, there's still more forest on the west side o' the road thats gotta be hit, an' a couple of isolated spots out on th' Plains too, too far north fer our shrew friends to've gotten to ... "

"Shrews?" Bryn cut in. "You got shrews in on this too?"

"O' course. Didn't y' hear what I said earlier? When Lord Urthblood was tamin' the Northlands, he took all beasts inta his service, not just th' vermin he ordered t' serve or die. Shrews, mice, 'hogs - even had some otters too fer a spell, tho' they've since all gone back North t' tend to matters there. Always forgin' new alliances too, like with the gulls when he needed 'em t' help fight Tratton - an' those seabirds y' saw outside ain't his only winged warriors, or even th' most fearsome, tho' they're prob'ly the meanest an' nastiest. Must be why me 'n' them get on so well!"

"Still don't see how we're gonna get it done so fast," said Snosso. "Just with what's on this map, that's still a lotta territory t' cover. Don't get me wrong, I'm all in fer givin' out some payback t' any rats we come across, but I c'n see this takin' some fair time."

"Maybe wouldn't strike ye as so unlikely if y' didn't have that gimpy leg," Bogdan taunted, eliciting a feral snarl from Snosso.

"Our weasel friend's right," Jaffox told them. "You've never seen any o' Lord Urthblood's forces in action. The Gawtrybe can all but fly through th' treetops, an' our gulls will lit'rally be flyin' up above 'em, an' they'll both be countin' on us t' keep pace with 'em." Looking to Snosso, he said, "Mebbe you'd like t' stay behind with th' wives 'n' maids 'n' oldsters 'n' young 'uns, an' help out with th' cookin' an' washin'?"

The other fox swallowed his gorge, having the sense not to challenge their imposing new master. "I'll keep up."

"Good. My aim's t' be on our way tomorrow, first light. I'd leave today, right now, but my foxes are a bit weary from journeyin' here, an' we'll need a decent night's rest 'fore we journey on. Th' rest o' you can use what's left of th' daylight to gather up an' make ready all th' weapons an' supplies we'll need; Sergeant Collijack will help get you all sorted out far as that goes."

"Y' really wanna be off so soon?" Bryn asked. "I'da figgered you'd wanna drill th' fighters fer a day or two first, 'fore sendin' 'en inta battle ... "

"Battle? Won't be a battle, not really. I expect we'll meet little resistance, an' nothing we can't easily handle. It's as like t' be the Gawtrybe engagin' them as us - an' Gawtrybe shafts never miss."

"Still, thought you might want a day or two t' get th' troops used ta takin' yer orders, get 'em more comfortable with th' shake-up in the command structure."

"Ah, but they'll not be takin' my orders, will they? They'll be takin' 'em from you. It's only you here who'll be takin' orders direct from me. I'll have my foxes t' look to, an' operations as a whole, an' that'll keep me too busy t' growl at ev'ry grunt. That'll be your jobs, an' since they're used to that from you already, very little's gonna change from where they stand. Seamless change o' command, that's what I'm lookin' for - an' what I'm countin' on you lot here t' give me."

This appeal to his new lieutenants worked perfectly, underscoring that he was now in charge of this horde while feeding their own thirst for power and authority, letting them know command of all their underlings would still be theirs. And playing on their lingering resentment and anti-rat sentiments fueled their devotion to this new purpose, just as Jaffox anticipated. The resettlement campaign might not represent any goal so grand or ambitious in their minds as conquest of the red tower, but it tapped into their current feelings and channeled them into a more ready acceptance of their new overlords. And once they were finished with the Purge here in Northern Mossflower, they'd be able to come and go at Foxguard as they pleased, as sworn fighters of Lord Urthblood's, without even having to win that stronghold through force of arms.

"Right, then, let's get to it. Gather up all th' blades, spears, shafts an' clubs you think you'll need fer this exercise, an' all the provisions too, since we'll likely be movin' too fast to do any foraging along th' way. At least on the trip out; once we start clearin' out these rat-infested pockets, there'll maybe be some pantries an' stores we c'n raid to replenish our supplies. Oh, an' make sure t' bring ev'ry bit o' rope you got in this place - fer the rats smart enuff not to resist!"


	18. Chapter XVII

**XVII.**

 **THE _REDFOAM_**

One day out from the less-than-enchanting isle of the melons, with one day still to go before making landfall at Talaga, the crew of the _Redfoam_ were beginning to sorely regret the detour their captain had made for his supply of the luscious fruits.

Dittmar, Lartaud and Mithermay stood lined up leaning against the starboard railing looking out to sea, each wondering whether the gentle swells of the calm, sunlit ocean surface served to soothe their misery, or only aggravate it.

"Blarh - woke up this morn with me stummick all topsy-turvy an' muscles all weak an' achy," complained Dittmar. "Didn't even try'n take any brekkist!"

"I got th' same," said Mithermay. "Don't even show me vittles! All I want's t' crawl back inta my bunk an' sleep 'til this blows over."

"All you _ever_ wanna do is crawl back inta yer bunk," Dittmar teased his scrawny crewmate.

"Oh har har har."

"Lots o' the other crew I talked to're sayin' they're feelin' under th' pink too," reported Lartaud. "Whate'er this is, it's really goin' 'round."

"Hadta be from that accursed isle," Dittmar accused."Why'd we ever hafta set foot on that stinkin', festerin' sea hole?"

"Cap'n wanted 'is melons," Lartaud replied. "An' I seem t' 'member you scarfin' one or two of 'em yer own self."

"Well, they did taste pretty sweet. But I'm bettin' they're what's makin' us sick."

"Naw," Lartaud begged to differ, "some o' th' lads who're feelin' outta sorts never touched those mushballs - don't care fer th' sweet stuff - so couldn'ta been that. I'm bettin' on those stingin', bitin' pests who made meals outta our blood when we went ashore. Boson Gabbert's come down with it real bad, an' he got et up worse'n any of us who ventured inta that jungle."

"Yeah, but I heard some who never even went ashore 've come down with this too. How d'you 'splain that?"

"May'aps those of us who got bit are spreadin' it to th' rest."

"Or maybe it did come aboard on those melons, but on th' outside, on their skins, not in th' meat o' the fruit itself. Any rat who handled those - an' that's most o' the crew - coulda caught it then, without havin' t' eat any of it."

"I think it came from that stinkin' brimstone sand we hadta step in to get to th' melon grove," offered Mithermay. "Didn't smell healthy, that beach bog didn't."

"Well, that makes no sense," Dittmar objected. "Not all of us who ain't feelin' well got bug-bit, an' not all went ashore an' stepped in that muck neither."

"Those of us who did still coulda carried it back on our footpaws an' tails. Ain't like we had any chance t' get that mud washed off 'fore we came back aboard. If this sickness coulda been clingin' to the outsides of melons, it coulda been clingin' to our unwashed parts just as easy ... "

As the three crewrats - and many of their brethren as well, all throughout the _Redfoam_ \- grumbled over their state of heath and speculated on the cause, Latura sought out Captain Trangle to ask an indulgence of him.

"Hey, Cap'n Cap'n!" she called out, almost cheerily, as she approached him and Laverty on the wheeldeck, bearing with her a basket of bread from the ship's stores. "C'n I help serve th' rowers t'day?"

"Well, don't you seem chipper this morn," Trangle said with a trace of scorn. "Guess you ain't come down with what's goin' 'round. Smart o' you t' stay away from that melon. Might hafta cast that whole lot overboard, much as it'd pain me."

"Oh, I got th' tummy burblies an' th' chills too," Latura admitted. "Think I'll go t' bed. But first wanna help feed my friends downstairs."

This was not the first time the prophetic ratmaid had asked to visit the rowing galley, although her offer to assist with the serving was a new wrinkle. Suspicious of what she might be up to, Trangle peered into the basket. "Ugh! This bread's all moldy!"

"Toldja it'd get moldy when th' air got so wet 'n' sticky."

Trangle grinned. "An' this's what ye're gonna give to yer friends down below?"

"Ayup! Want some?" She plucked up a heel slice of the green-tinged bread and held it out to him.

"Unh! Get that away from me, missy! Me stummick's queasy 'nuff without you wavin' spoilt food under my snout!"

"Tain't spoiled," Latura protested. "Just a liddle moldy." And with that, she lifted it to her mouth and tore off a bit with her teeth, chewing heartily. "Tastes kinda funny tho' - tangy 'n' powdery."

"Are ye daft?!" Laverty spat, feeling his already-stifled appetite diminish to outright revulsion at this sight. "If y' weren't sick already, that'll make you so! You'll never be able t' keep that down."

"Gotta try. Sure y' don't want some?"

"No thanks." Trangle studied the imperturbable ratmaid. "Ain'tcher worried 'bout this t'all? Whole crew looks t' be gettin' sick."

"Naw, I ain't worried. I know I get better."

Trangle regarded her with renewed intensity. It was every sea captain's nightmare to have some untreatable disease sweep through his ship like wildfire, decimating crew and slaves alike with no hope of a cure. And while he'd not started to genuinely worry about such an epidemic seizing hold of the _Redfoam_ \- at least not at this early juncture - Latura's assured pronouncement alleviated his apprehension considerably. "You know y' get better, huh? You, um, 'seen' this, have you?"

Latura nodded as she chewed at her mouthful of rancid bread. "Yuppers. Get queasy-fevery sick fer a bit, then get better again. We all do. Sure y' don't want any?"

"No. Thanks."

"Lemme jus' see here ... " Laverty, unheeding of his own unwashed paws, reached into the basket and started winnowing through it, rummaging all the way down to the bottom.

"What're y' doin' there, Lavs?" Trangle inquired of his first mate.

"Gotta make sure she ain't tryin' t' sneak any weapons down to 'er friends, or any tools they could use t' try'n free themselves from their chains."

"An' where would she o' gotten such tools an' arms? Just 'cos she's got free run o' th' _Redfoam_ don't mean she ain't bein' watched, or that we leave such stuff lyin' 'round fer her t' just pick up as she pleases."

"Yah, well mebbe she thinks she c'n take advantage of us not feelin' up t' snuff t' slip summat past us. Mebbe we ain't been as careful as we should be, an' she snuck sumpthin' illicit inta her paws when norat was lookin'. How do we know she's even sick 'erself? All we got's her word; she could be fakin'."

Trangle felt Latura's forehead. "If this one knows how t' fake a fever, she's a better actor'n any I ever seen or heard tell of. So, find any files or hammers or daggers in there?"

Laverty was forced to confess he hadn't. "Naw, it's clean. 'cept fer th' mold."

"Make sure you wash yer paws good after that foragin' expedition - don't need that stuff makin' you any sicker'n you already are." Trangle looked to Latura. "So, you know what this malady is, an' where it came from?"

"Island. Came from th' island."

"Yeah, kinda figgered as much. But as long as it ain't deadly, we'll bluster through it like a patch o' foul weather, an' come out a'right on the other side."

"Doesn't kill," Latura swore. "Just makes ya sick."

"Well, ye're our good luck charm, so I'll hold ye to that. We'll prob'ly reach Talaga 'fore we're fully over this, an' they got better healers there than our own Doc Tammer, so if we find we're still in a bad way then, we won't be fer long."

"What if they make us stand offshore in a quarrunteen?" Laverty worried. "There's lotsa officers' families on that isle, an' they may not wanna risk us bringin' any sickness ashore. We're already under orders from Jagtar not to let most o' th' crew leave th' _Redfoam_ at Talaga."

"True - but we're also under orders t' deliver our slaves there too, which means tyin' up in their harbor an' lowerin' our gangplank, whether they want us to or not. 'Sides, they'll not even know we got sickness aboard until after we've docked, an' it'll be too late t' turn us away then."

"An' what if all our slaves're sick too by th' time we get there?"

Trangle grimaced. "They'll be sick one way or 'nother, if Lattie gets 'em to nibble this moldy bread o' hers. But won't be our concern; they're th' ones who're askin' fer our slaves, so we'll jus' be givin' 'em what they want. What they do with those sorry souls, ill or well, is their affair."

"P'raps so, but we still gotta get there. What happens if we ain't left with enuff able-bodied crew fit t' keep us on course an' under sail? Whatever this is, it's hit us hard 'n' fast, an' laid a lot of us too low t' do ship's work. If it keeps on spreadin', we'll be in a bad way."

Trangle wasn't overly concerned, not after what Latura had said earlier. "Worse comes t' worst, we'll tie down th' wheel, trim th' canvases an' sail in circles fer a day or two while we all recover from th' worst of what ails us. Don't wanna do that if we can avoid it, but Jagtar only said t' make straight fer Talaga to drop off our slaves - never gave us any deadline fer doin' it. Now, my throat's gettin' too sore t' keep jawin' on like this, so lemme keep to my ship's wheel while I can, an' enjoy some silence fer awhile."

Latura chose that moment to pass wind from both ends. "Oof - that mold ain't agreein' with me!"

The two searats regarded her with disdain, even if she was their "good luck charm." "Be off with ye!" Laverty scolded. "Go poison yer friends below with fuzzy green bread fer all we care! It's what alla you deserve!"

This censure and scorn rolling off her like raindrops off armor, Latura went cheerfully if weakly on her way, bread basket in paw.

Along the way she rendezvoused with Carlton and Tallyrand. The two rat lads had yet to show any outward symptoms of the scourge which was taking such a toll amongst the crewrats, but she could tell they were exposed too, and it was only a matter of time.

"Here," she said, offering them some bread. The two wrinkled their snouts and drew back at the mere suggestion they ought to ingest such unwholesome fare.

"Lattie, ye're cracked-er in th' head than I thought you was," Carlton declared.

She broke off another mouthful of the bread, chewing it slowly. "I'll tell yer mums 'n' dads, an' they'll see to it you 'ave some. Mums 'n' dads allers do what's best fer their whelplin's. If they're good mums 'n' dads, leastways."

Crackmaster too had yet to exhibit any symptoms of the shipboard outbreak, isolated from the rest of the crew to the degree that he was by his slavemaster's position down in the rowing galley. The brutish rat stood back, coiled whip in paw, as Carlton and Tallyrand made their rounds dispensing their gruel and Latura joined them, urging her own penicillic bounty on all the chained oarslaves.

With the fated ratmaid no longer at his side, Palter had once again drawn his share of disciplinary abuse, as several fresh welts and half-healed scars on his head, arms and back attested. And while he was mildly cheered to see Latura visiting them this morning, just as he always was, her intermittent appearances brought him less joy these days, for how was he able to exult in her seeming good fortune while he himself sat cast into the misery of the lowliest and most wretched of galley slaves?

Latura plucked at the sorry remnants of her once-fine peach dress, now worn and tattered worse than ever by whip lashings and the continuous, repetitive exertions of pulling the oar handle; if the garment became any more frayed, Palter might as well not have worn anything at all - a state of disrobement several of the other land rats seemed well on their way toward as well.

"Oh, Lattie," Palter bemoaned as he and his fellow rowers sat with the handle of their shipped oars lying across their laps in rest mode for their feeding break, "it's been gettin' worse 'n' worse since you got freed from 'ere. The whippin's, the punishments ... ain't sure how much longer I c'n last, not even fer yer sake ... "

"Oh, you'll last, Paltryrat. Won't be long now - just gotta hold out a liddle bit more. Here, have some o' this!" She dipped into her basket and thrust a slice of bread at him, its green tinge mostly hidden by the dark gloom of the ill-lit galley. Palter, at first buoyed by the prospect of something more substantial than the weak gruel to put in his belly, took an eager bite but then spat it out again almost at once as the taste and texture hit his tongue.

"Guh! Lattie, what're y' tryin' t' do, givin' us rotten food like that? That's even worse'n our reg'lar gruel, an' never thought I'd say that 'bout anything!"

Latura sadly regarded the spat-out mouthful of barely-masticated dough on the galley deck at Palter's footpaws like a lost opportunity. "Aw, y' went an' wasted it! Now there might not be enuff t' go around!"

Palter regarded the basket in her paw with incredulity. "What, is all that bread bad? They were expectin' us all t' eat it? That's a new low, even fer them!"

"Wasn't their idea. Gathered up th' moldy bread m'self, asked 'em if I could bring it down 'ere, an' they said yes. Offered it to Cap'n Cap'n too, an' 'is matey, three times I did, but turned me down. They didn't get it."

Tadrousse, listening in on this conversation from Palter's other side, began to glean something from what Latura was saying which had gone right over the male rat's head. "Why'd you wanna bring us bad bread, Lattie? What didn't th' Cap'n get?"

"There's a sickness aboard," Latura told them, and now rats from the rows in front of and behind theirs were paying rapt attention too. "Picked it up at the isle we stopped at. Lotta crew's got it a'ready, soon they'll all have it. An' you down 'ere too. Real bad, lays a beast flat on its back, keeps 'em there fer days, unless they eat th' moldy bread. Helps ya get better faster."

"Y' don't say." Tadrousse eyed the bitten slice Palter still clutched in his paw. "Y' don't say."

"Actshully, I just did, I thought."

In the row before them, Potdar twisted around in his seat. "There's a sickness on board that's gonna knock those sea brutes right off o' their feet? An' moldy bread'll cure it? Then why'd y' offer 'em any?"

"Seemed like th' nice thing t' do. It's their bread, after all."

"Well, ye're not t' do that agin, unnerstand?" Potdar hissed at her, voice low to keep Crackmaster from catching on to what they were discussing. "Not t' Cap'n an' crew, an' surely not t' this monster down 'ere who torments us daily. This bread's just fer us slaves now, y' got that? It'll be our liddle secret, shared with no other rat aboard. Y' got that, Lattie?"

"He's right," Tadrousse quickly agreed, applying more persuasive pressure on Latura herself. "If there's really a bad disease goin' 'round that'll incapacertate ev'ry searat aboard, we gotta keep th' cure fer us, an' let 'em have none of it."

"Don't think they'd take it anyway," Latura said morosely. "Didn't seem t' want any o' my bread."

Potdar's seatmate Spratley twisted around on his bench as well. "But, if we let all th' searats get knocked outta action by this, what'll become o' us? There'll be norat t' make our food an' bring it down t' us! We'll starve t' death chained at these accursed oars!"

"Don't be silly!" Potdar chastised his alarmed fellow slave. "Lattie 'ere'll eat her moldy bread an' stay well, then she'll look after us. Won'tcher, Lattie?"

"Oh, sure, ayup! An' CalTal too," she added, using her hybrid nickname for Carlton and Tallyrand, who labored with their gruel buckets farther up the aisle. "I'll make sure they eat their bread, so we c'n keep you fed 'n' watered!"

Crackmaster, suspicious of this frowned-upon discourse amongst his slaves - because nothing good ever came of slaves talking among themselves - ambled by with his usual bad grace. "Break it up 'ere, or there'll be extra lashin's once we're underway agin! Then ye'll rue these words ye're sharin' now!"

Potdar and Spratley turned to face forward again, falling into sullen silence. The slavemaster leaned forward to inspect Latura's basket. "An' just what're you givin' out 'ere that's raisin' such a fuss, me lucky liddle one?"

"Jus' bread. It's a bit moldy. Want some?"

Crackmaster took up a crust from the basket, sniffed at it, and tossed it back with disdain. "Figgers Cap'n'd send fare like that down fer you lot. It'll go good with yer gruel - you c'n use it t' sop it up, make a full meal outta it, harrharrharr! Carry on then, mouseymiss, an' give yer pals their rich desserts!" The burly rat stalked away, chuckling to himself with malicious glee.

Palter raised his bread to his lips again, but still hesitated. "I dunno, Lattie - even if I could force myself t' swallow this, not sure I'd be able t' keep it down."

"Gotta try," she encouraged. "Least fer a little bit, so it has time t' get inta ya. Don't wanna wait 'til ye're fully sick, an' can't think o' food t'all, from th' quease."

"I think our tormentor may've just given us th' answer without realizin' it," said Tadrousse. "Mebbe dippin' it in the other slop'll help cover up the mold taste - an' might even make the gruel easier t' take too. Whatever gets it down's worth a try."

This proved to be the solution indeed. Latura joined Carlton and Tallyrand at their side, distributing her bread as the two lads doled out their bowlfuls of mush, while whispered word spread rapidly throughout the galley of the sea plague the ratmaid foresaw, and her unorthodox solution for avoiding the worst of it. The two servers' parents made sure that Tallyrand and Carlton took helpings for themselves, much as the idea revulsed the youngrats, but they were made to see that if they became too ill themselves to serve, the slaves would be put in a dire way.

The bread ran out long before the waiting mouths did. This shortfall, however, was viewed differently by different contingents within the slaves' ranks. As Latura made to leave to fetch more of the moldy fare, Zarephath reached out into the aisle, seizing the smaller ratmaid by the arm.

"Don't go get more o' th' cure fer _'em_ ," the rugged female grunted, nodding toward the imprisoned searats filling the rows in front of her. "You got all us woodland rats, an' we're th' only ones you should be thinkin' 'bout. Those 'uns up there, they been lookin' down their snouts at us an' givin' us th' cold shoulder ever since we was loaded aboard. You know they'd not give us a lick o' help if'n th' tables was turned, so why should we help them?"

One of the searats, catching this, turned about on his own bench to glare at Zarephath. "'ey! We're in th' same boat as you! Got no right with'oldin' from us what ye're benefittin' from yerselves! An' if this maid don't make it back down 'ere real quick with more bread fer me 'n' me mateys, I'll tell Cracky what ye're up to!"

"Oh yeah? An' what'll he do about it anyway?"

"Most likely, take some o' that bread 'imself, so that he don't get sick neither, an' then we won't get any break from him t'all!"

"Then you'd be shootin' yerself in th' footpaw, 'cos you'd be bringin' that misfortune down on yerselves as well as us!"

"Hah, well, in case y' ain't o' noterced, Cracky treats you lot lots worse'n he treats us. You'd suffer more'n we would - an' it'd be worth it, seein' you landscum put in yer places!"

Latura laid a paw on Zarephath's shoulder to calm the older female. "They're right. Gotta keep us all from gettin' th' full sick. They're th' only ones who know how t' run a ship." And with that, seemingly unaware of the full implications of what she'd just said, Latura moved on, leaving Zarephath and the searats staring after her.

Two rows from the front of the galley, Latura paused and glanced to her right. Most of the chained searats were looking at her now, word of her dire prognostication having filtered forward to reach the ears of every captive rat. But the one in the middle of this second-right bench radiated an essence of wrongness that none of his companions seemed aware of. She locked gazes with him for the briefest of instants, during which he shot her a glance of veiled menace and dark intent that nobeast else noticed and that perhaps only she could perceive. Shuddering, she faced forward once more and resumed her course up out of the galley.

"Dark rat, dark rat," she muttered to herself. "Gotta watch that one ... an' mebbe one or two o' the others, too."

 **THE SOUTHWEST COAST**

Captain Siegwarth often reflected on the smiling fortunes of fate which had led him to where he was today.

The _Bloodreef_ had plied the open main long before Tratton ascended the throne and founded Terramort of Terramort, and under that name the ship had hosted a dozen or more captains before Siegwarth, including no lesser a rat than Garwal himself, who'd vied with Farca for supreme mastery of the searat realm until the current King had put them both in their places ... with more than a little help from a certain red-armored badger. Thus did Siegwarth, in the aftermath of Tratton's latest purge of rebellion-minded officers, come to command the vessel previously captained by the father of the current Queen - and could less of a ship been trusted to carry out this diplomatic mission to Southsward? Perhaps a dreadnought - but Tratton preferred to keep the few remaining master ships of his Fleet far from the coastline these days.

The reason for that, of course, lay in the skies above. With Urthblood's recruitment of the seagulls, and their ingenious, diabolical training in the ways of ship-burning, those birds had taken on an entirely new, different and more sinister association for every fighter in the Searat Empire, and for every mate and offspring whose spouse or parent had never returned from the previous spring's clashes with the Badger Lord. Sadly, no way had yet been found to counter Urthblood's new allies, and so the hopes of knocking them and their threat from the sky remained merely hopes. At least for the average searat sailor and officer, most of whom were unaware as yet of Tratton's own new winged allies, and some of the weaponry prototypes Clucus even now toyed with in the weapon shops of Terramort.

For this voyage so far, in spite of their close proximity to the shore and lying here at anchor off the coast of Southsward for so many days, Siegwarth and his crew and their fellow ship the _Redsky_ had known nothing of misfortune, from gulls or any other source. On this day, another fine one of sunny blue skies and calm seas, a few gulls circled high overhead, just as they always did, but not in any numbers to raise concern. This far south, it was impossible to know whether the birds above were indeed in the service of Urthblood, monitoring the searats' presence here and reporting it back to the badger, or simply unaffiliated avians or an independent flock outside of his direct command. Either way, as long as they remained far up in their aerial domain - and as long as they remained unarmed with any glass globes glittering their deadly beauty in the morning rays - they were cause for casual concern, nothing more.

Of far greater concern was any other ship or craft of the non-searat variety on these waters, coming either in from the sea or downstream from inland. While the former was likely to be nothing more than a trader vessel, perhaps ripe for boarding or confiscation of tribute, a boat coming from inner Southsward could be one of only two things: either Korba's delegation returning to report success, failure or an impasse, or a force of hostile woodlanders who, having already executed or imprisoned Korba and his rats, now sought to drive away the remaining searat presence from their shores, to expel what they deemed unwholesome from the mouth of the river connecting their king's palace to the ocean coast.

Of course, unless they were armed with stormpowder themselves, or came in a force of a thousand armed warriors or more, Siegwarth wished them luck with any efforts to shift a frigate and a galleon of His Majesty's Imperial Fleet.

Thus, when the lookout up in the crow's nest shouted down that he'd spotted a ship approaching from the open sea to the northwest, Siegwarth gave the announcement only moderate interest. And some short time later, once it had been positively identified as a trader vessel and not a searat ship, his interest waned even further; at least another ship of the Fleet might have borne a change of orders or some other news of interest, whereas a woodlander or sea otter vessel was, well, just a woodlander or otter vessel, and aside from any tribute that stood to be collected from it, posed no concern whatsoever. And Siegwarth seriously doubted any tribute was to be gained this day, since the _Bloodreef_ and the _Redsky_ were under orders to hold at anchor and wait on Viceroy Korba, and not go chasing after any trader vessel that happened by ... and a chase it most certainly would be, since any sea captain in his right mind would turn right around and flee under full sail at the sight of a searat frigate and galleon lying side-by-side just off the main dock.

Odd, then, that this craft kept coming on with a determined purpose, almost as if in challenge to the two searat warships already occupying this stretch of the coast.

"Looks like they mean t' put in," Siegwarth remarked to his first mate Baffert. "They got brass, whoever they are, comin' in t' dock right under our noses like it's business as usual, an' we ain't even here! But it'll be a sorry day fer 'em, if they was lookin' t' keep all their loot without givin' us our due! Baffy, get a boardin' crew assembled an' row over to th' dock in our landin' boat, so we c'n give 'em the proper welcome they deserve! Oh' an' take a few extra of our fellers with ya, just in case those seadogs're of a mind to quarrel an' bicker with ye!"

"Aye aye, Cap'n sir!"

With the encroaching vessel still a fair way out, Baffert had plenty of time to gather his team and reach the Southsward dock before the trader ship, which was soon revealed by the name painted on her prow as the _Stronganchor_. The otter crew, with a few mice in evidence too, looked down from the mooring craft with fair disdain but not much apparent concern at the searat squad deployed on the pier's wood planks, standing ready to greet them with whatever demands filled their greedy hearts.

The otter at the helm showed the expertise of many seasons, guiding the _Stronganchor_ in for a perfect docking in smooth, flawless alignment with the wharf. Lines were cast and made fast, and the gangway lowered to meet the dock with the hearty clunk of wood against wood. A trio of burly sea otters, one presumably the captain, thumped their way down the plank with heavy, assured steps, coming to stand before the waiting searats with casual, unworried ease.

"So, yore our reception committee, huh?" the presumed otter captain said. "Where's Harbormaster Cuddy? That riverdog's an old pal o' mine, an' t'aint like him t' leave 'is stationhouse up there unattended."

Baffert gave a bully laugh. "Yah, there was one o' yer ruddertailed friends presidin' over this dock when we got here earlier this season, but once it came clear we meant t' stay an' weren't goin' anywheres, that one showed th' good sense t' pack up 'is family an' head inland. Kinda imperlite an' not very hospitable, but then, it does leave their pier an' coastline all t' us, don't it?"

"Not anymore it don't. We got business of our own here in Southsward, an' ye'll not be chasin' us away so easy."

"Oh? An' what business is that?"

"No business o' yores, friend."

Baffert decided right then and there that he cared for this arrogant otter even less than most otters he'd had occasion to meet. "Well, that's where ye're wrong, _friend_. Ye're a trader vessel plyin' OUR waters, an' the Accord entitles us t' board an' make sure all yer papers 'n' manifests 're in order - an' t' take our deserved share if'n they ain't."

"Yah, you searats always seem t' find some 'i' that ain't dotted or 't' that ain't crossed right, an' end up takin' double or triple shares from honest seabeasts who're just tryin' t' make a decent livin'!"

"You don't like it, there's a badger in a mountain north o' here you may wanna take it up with. That's th' way it is, he's made sure o' that."

"Funny you should mention him. But ye ain't boardin' my ship, 'cos this ain't a trader run. An' no profit fer me means no profit fer you either."

Baffert regarded the stonewalling otter in incredulity. "Not a trader run? But, ye're a trader vessel! Y' can't be runnin' about with an empty hold! What's yer cargo?"

"My cargo? Fer you, nightmares."

Baffert's frown turned into a half-snarl. "Tarak! Stroppa! Lead our party aboard, an' cut down anybeast who stands in yer way, startin' with these three impertinent seadogs standin' right 'ere! We'll show 'em what - "

The searat first mate never got to finish saying what he would show the impertinent otters, for at that moment a score of red-furred, tufted-eared figures popped up from behind the ship's railing and launched a simultaneous volley of arrows that thudded into the wharf a whisker's breadth from every rat's footpaw. Before the stunned searats could could even react, twenty new shafts were nocked to the still-vibrating bowstrings and drawn back into firing position - and this time, those arrows were clearly aimed at the enemy's hearts rather than their feet.

"Is there a problem here?"

With the issuing of that deep, rumbling inquiry and the appearance of the red-armored giant at the top of the gangplank, Baffert and his squad knew what nightmare the defiant otter captain had meant, and saw how such night terrors could walk about in the full light of day as their longtime badger nemesis thudded ponderously down the passenger plank, the wood length bowing noticeably under his massive bulk.

Urthblood stalked right up to Baffert, halting to stare down his striped snout at the rat. "What is your name?"

"B-B-Baffert. F-First Mate Baffert, of th' frigate _Bloodreef_ ... "

"Do you wish to live, First Mate Baffert?"

The rat nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak.

"Very good. Then mark me well. I am here on a diplomatic mission to Castle Floret. Tell your captain, and the captain of your companion ship as well, that any attempt to interfere with my mission here will be declared by me to be a violation of the Accord and grounds for resumption of full hostilities between Salamandastron and Terramort. And make sure they know that if war were to break out again - " Urthblood pointed over Baffert's shoulder at the _Bloodreef_ and _Redsky_ , " - that those will be the first two ships to burn. Have I made myself clear, First Mate Baffert?"

"Y-yes. V-very clear."

"You may guess at what weapons I bear with me, or can summon at short call, to achieve such prompt destruction - but guessing is all you will be able to do, since you are not to board the _Stronganchor_ or harass her crew in any way during my absence. Any attempt to do so will also be viewed by me as a violation of the Accord. This ship and her good crew have forgone any trading gain to serve as my transport on my mission, and they stand under the protection of my flag. Any infraction against them, even if it does not lead to abrogation of the Accord and resumption of all-out war, would at the very least force me to lodge a formal complaint with King Tratton ... and I suspect His Majesty would not be happy with you or your captains about that."

"N-no ... I mean, y-yes ... "

"You may leave now. Return to your ship, and see to it that you trouble us no more."

As the searats piled back into their landing boat and rowed back to the _Bloodreef_ , all achieved with clumsy haste that might have been amusing to watch under other circumstances, the Gawtrybe on deck held to their arrows-at-the-ready vigilance while Abellon's mice streamed down the gangway onto the dock along with Alexander and Whiskersalt. The elder otter took his place at Captain Wakefern's side, the two waterbeasts standing regarding the searat forces on display just a short distance off.

"Glad I am that those seabutchers decided t' drop anchor farther offshore 'stead of tyin' up right here at th' dock," Wakefern said. "Hate t' hafta have them loomin' over an' lookin' down at us from such close quarters."

"The water here is fairly shallow, from what I am given to understand," said Urthblood. "The galleon may have had a low enough draw to dock here, but I suspect the frigate would scrape the bottom, especially at low tide. But they may have had other reasons as well to stand offshore. Not knowing what manner of forces the Southswarders might be able to throw against them should things go badly for them here, it only makes sense they would want to maintain a safe distance from their potential enemy."

"Aye, but just what're they hopin' to achieve here?" Whiskersalt wondered.

"Much the same as we are, no doubt. To open diplomatic relations with Floret, and perhaps even sign a treaty with the Squirrel King much as I signed with Tratton - a treaty most certainly designed in word and intent to preclude any meaningful or worthwhile agreement with me. These ships lie waiting; the actual negotiating delegation must have departed for the castle quite some time ago, most likely up the river here in one or more smaller craft, to make the best time. I only hope we are not too late, and such an agreement has not already been struck between Tratton and Floret - one that would grant great advantage to the searats while shutting me out of Southsward altogether."

"Can't you ... well, _see_ whether this has come to pass already, Lord?" Abellon ventured.

"No, Captain. Some crux points of history are too turbulent and clouded for me to view them until after history has settled into its definite pattern. This is one such."

"If t'were so important," asked Whiskersalt, "why'd y' wait so long? Why not leave before they got here, an' head 'em off?"

"Because this was not the only matter of import to occupy my attention this season."

"Yes," Alex bitterly weighed in, "you had innocents to abduct and terrorize, an Abbey's trust to betray, and a battle to fight with beasts you like to pretend may still be your allies, even after your treachery toward them."

"That ratmaid could have been my undoing, and consequently the undoing of all the lands. I had to deal with her before all else, and now that I have, I am free to direct my attention elsewhere."

Abellon regarded the searat ships with a trace of worry. "I just hope your edict to those seascummers just now does the trick, Lord. Knowin' how many fighters they can cram aboard their vessels, I'd wager they got us outnumbered five-to-one."

"Then it's a good thing one Gawtrybe archer is worth any ten ordinary searat soldiers - and I would expect your mice to give a good account of yourselves as well. And let us remember, an armed escort almost certainly accompanied their delegation to Floret, so those will be fighters they'll not have available here to engage us."

"Still, if this negotiation means so much to Tratton, an' we could upset it by breaking into it ourselves, they might deem it worthwhile to try to stop us ... not to mention they might be tempted to take you out once an' for all, if they thought they could get away with it. Respect for the Accord would mean nothing to them, if they imagine you might not be around to punish them for violating it."

"That would be the supreme gambit they'd have to risk, wouldn't it? But I am making one of my own, and I see several factors working in our favor. Most importantly, Tratton is not here himself, and his captains on site have no way of communicating with him quickly. I trust neither he nor they anticipated that I might insert myself into Southsward at this juncture, and thus they have no contingency plans in place for such an eventuality. This will cast them into uncertainty and disarray, and my veiled threat of resumption of war should they interfere ought to stay their paw. The searats well remember the loss of Tratton's assault fleet off Salamandastron, and know I can make their ships burn again if I choose, and no captain of theirs would dare risk that. No, I do not believe our present competitors here will trouble us in our purpose."

"And if you're wrong, Lord, and they do engage us?" Abellon pressed.

"That is one reason I made sure we were packed, armed and ready for immediate travel once we docked." Urthblood motioned for the score of Gawtrybe still maintaining their defensive posture aboard the _Stronganchor_ to break formation and join him, and within moments all had streamed down the gangway to stand with their Lord and comrades on the dock, fully provisioned to be underway at once. "And if they do think to pursue us, we will draw them into the forests we can see even from here, where they will die in great numbers."

"Are ye shore you'll not want to make use of our own landin' boat?" Wakefern asked the badger. "You'd make better time to Floret goin' upstream than on foot."

"That might be true, if any of my company were shrews or otters. They are not, and I would not ask you to spare us any of your own crew, who must remain here to help you safeguard the _Stronganchor_. And your boat is not large enough to hold my entire force, and I would not split it and divide my strength so. The searats are less likely to follow if they see us going into the woods, where my Gawtrybe will hold supreme tactical advantage. It will take longer, true, but my gulls have already scouted out a route which should provide the quickest way to Floret. Look to yourselves, do all you must to ensure your own safety, and if it is at all possible for you to remain here until my return, I would implore you to do so, even though it may be many days."

"We'll not let ye down, Lord," Whiskersalt assured Urthblood. "We'll be here for ye, even if it takes to summer's end!"

"Unless those ruffians start lobbin' some o' their boom powder our way," Wakefern hastened to add, "in which case we'll withdraw t' farther offshore, but hopefully still close enuff t' pick you up when you need pickin' up."

"Captain, if two searat ships supplied with stormpowder and catapults decide to open a salvo your way, I fear you will not have time to withdraw anywhere, except to the bottom of this harbor."

"Well, that's mighty cheerin' ... "

"If you are threatened in any way, retreat all the way out to the open sea and south; my gulls will know to look for you there, and arrange an alternate rendezvous point where you may retrieve us safely."

"An' if th' searats chase us down, meanin' t' do us in?"

"Then they will be reminded to their final detriment that my gulls are good for more than just rearranging rendezvous points. Just keep your lead if they give pursuit, and my gulls will take care of the rest." Urthblood turned to Alex. "I presume it remains your intention to accompany us to Floret and do what you can to disrupt my negotiations with the King?"

Alex struck a defiant pose. "I didn't come all this way to stay behind here aboard the _Stronganchor_."

"No, and our two good otter captains here - who have at least shown the good sense not to allow you to poison their minds against me, in spite of your best efforts - still refuse to hold you aboard against your will, even though that would offer the easiest solution to the dilemma you present me. And I will not bind or gag you, lest that portray to any Southswarders we encounter between here and Floret that I am exactly the kind of beast you accuse me of being. If I place you under any manner of arrest, it will be of the loosest kind from which you would be able to escape with ease if that be your intent, so there would be little point in doing so. I must concern myself with looking to my own creatures, whether the searats harass us or not, and with making the best time we may. It appears you will be left to your own devices on this journey, through necessity if nothing else."

"Maybe I'll even reach Floret before you, and grab the King's ear before you can."

"I am fairly certain my Gawtrybe will see to it that _that_ doesn't happen." Urthblood gazed out toward the searat ships, where Baffert's squad had nearly reached the _Bloodreef_. "And now I think it best that we all be underway, and with a brisk pace. I would prefer to be well ashore and most of our way toward the woods by the time those two ships' captains are fully briefed as to my purpose here - and the threats I have issued against them."


	19. Chapter XVIII

**XVIII.**

 **MOSSFLOWER**

Grayfoot's Tavern sat in the midst of a relative clearing, bordered by the open road on its west and wide meadows to north and south; even its rear face, where the trees of Mossflower encroached at their closest, still looked out over a spacious flat field between the structure and the edge of the woods, the private backyard (as much as any such spot in Mossflower could be considered private) where little Percy spent so much of his time on fair days such as this romping and playing, indulging the imagination as only creatures of his tender seasons could.

So it was perhaps no surprise that, when Sergeant Twisher's quartet of Long Patrol set out from the ferret's inn heading not north back to Redwall but east toward the thick of the forest, other eyes should easily spot them, and upon them remained fixed, curious and suspicious as to why the departing hares should be striking out in this unexpected direction and intent upon following their progress to make sure they meant to cause no trouble for these woodlands' new masters ...

The hedgehog family of Ponzillo and his wife Tebinka and their seven offspring were unaccustomed to receiving many visitors, nestled as they were in their fairly isolated, tumble-down cabin in the heart of the forest. Thus were they surprised by the relative crush of visitors their abode was to receive this afternoon. First those four hares with their unusual request, and now ...

The cavorting hoglets, bouncing and rolling and playfully squabbling out of doors as was their wont, were the first to see the Gawtrybe descend from the branches overhead and approach their homestead. Breaking off their revelry to stare at the newcomers, the hedgehog siblings immediately pegged this duo as belonging to the "new squirrels" - not the ones who'd always dwelt in this region who would occasionally drop by for friendly visits to see how their fellow woodlanders fared, but the more grim and soldierly recent arrivals to Mossflower who canvassed these woods not out of neighborly concern but with methodical purpose and policing attitude. The oldest called over his shoulder, "Mum! Da! We got more vis'tors!"

Ponzillo and Tebinka met the Gawtrybe pair at the door to their hovel, eyeing the squirrels warily. "C'n we help ya, friends?"

"Those hares who left a short while ago - what did they want?"

"What business is that o' yers?" the hogwife challenged.

This show of gruffness failed to intimidate or put off the Gawtrybe. "No trouble now - we've been through here before, and you know what we're about. Or have you changed your minds about the benefits of getting rid of Mossflower's rats?"

"Yeah," added the second squirrel as the youngsters gathered about them, eager to see how this confrontation would play out, "you of all beasts, living out here alone in the middle of the forest with all your little ones, have reason to see our current campaign succeed."

"We got us some neighbors who check in on us time t' time, jus' like we check in on 'em," Ponzillo said. "Ain't as alone here as it might look at first glance, tho' we do value our privacy. An' me 'n' Tebbs know how t' handle our clubs an' staffs, we do."

"Bopped a stoat on th' head with a hammer once!" the eldest hoglet boasted. "He didn't never come back!"

"Redwall has made it clear they don't agree with our campaign, for misguided ideals of their own," the first squirrel explained. "Those hares are from Redwall ... and when we stopped them this morn, they claimed they were on their way to deliver supplies to the ferret tavern a quarter-day's march from here, and never mentioned journeying on anyplace else after that. Their only possible purpose is to disrupt and interfere with our own activities - and if that is their aim, we need you to tell us that right now."

"And if they were trying to recruit you to their cause," the second squirrel added, "we should hope you showed the good sense to turn them down flat."

"They asked a favor of us, is all," Ponzillo relented, seeing that he'd not be rid of these pushy inquisitors until he'd satisfied their curiosity. "Only that any rats who might come our way, fleein' this Purge o' yers, be directed up toward Redwall, t' seek sanctuary there. Not sure whether you bushtails would consider that disruptin' or interferin', but there 'tis."

"And did you agree to this?"

"Didn't agree ner disagree. Like as not we'll not see a single rat this way fer th' rest o' this season. An' if'n I do, guess I'll make up my mind then, won't I?"

"We have that Abbey surrounded and guarded by constant patrols and sweeps. Any rat who seeks to flee to Redwall will be caught. Or didn't those hares bother to mention that?"

"Then I guess they got sumpthin' else figgered out. Not my problem, is it? Most I'll be doin' is lendin' those ratfaces a piece o' friendly advice, if I even do that much. Fer all I know, those lopears could be helpin' you on th' sly, sendin' rats yer way t' make sure they do get caught. Aidin' you in a way that doesn't look like they're aidin' ya, fer pride an' appearances' sake."

The two Gawtrybe stood stunned by this interpretation of the Long Patrols' possible motives. "Do you really think that might be their intent?"

Ponzillo shrugged. "Hard t' say. But they sure didn't seem too fond o' yer lot, so if it was all just an act, t'was a very convincin' one."

"And if it wasn't an act, why would you even consider helping them? Helping rats?"

If Ponzillo had been wearing a hat, he would have tipped it up by its brim with his pawthumb. "Well, here's th' thing. I got no great love of rats, ner any other vermin sorts. But word's gettin' 'round of how you been treatin' Redwall. Just said yerselves y' got it surrounded, din't ya? An' that don't wash well with th' folks in these parts. Th' decent folk, at any rate. So if some Abbeybeasts come askin' me fer a favor that's no skin off my snout an' not like t' tangle my spikes, I might just agree t' do it for 'em - whether it helps rats get t' safety, or ends up gettin' 'em caught up in yer web. 'Cos neighbors help each other out, don't they?"

"The Redwallers are free to practice their beliefs behind the security of high walls. If they wish to take a harsh view of what we're doing - and a lenient view toward rats - they're in a position to do so, aren't they? But there are no walls out here. I'd really think you'd be on our side in this - for your own welfare if nothing else."

"Then mebbe you don't know Mossflower as well as y' think."

Seeing no point in continued conversation with the hedgehogs, the two Gawtrybe turned and ascended to the trees once more, with the hoglets shouting some less-than hospitable farewells after them. Tebinka shushed them with a few mildly-reprimanding pawsmacks to their headspikes. "'ey, quiet now! That's no way to behave toward visitors! Not how *I* brought you up!"

"But ma! They were bein' terse an' cranky t' you an' pa!"

"Don't matter. They weren't vermin ner hooligans, so we'll not treat 'em as such unless they prove they deserve it. Now stop standin' 'round gapin' an' get down to th' brook to get washed up. Supper'll be soon!"

As their brood scattered to do as bidden, for they were as mindful of their parents as they were rambunctious on their own, Ponzillo and Tebinka stood in their doorway gazing after the departed Gawtrybe. "Think they bought it, Ponz?"

"Dunno, Tebbs. Dunno why they wouldn't. Tellin' 'em we're gonna send any rats that come our way north t' Redwall makes no less sense than th' truth, an' might even be easier t' berlieve. Those bunnies knew what they were doin', givin' us a cover story t' spill if those treewhompers pressed us. Mebbe they'll find out th' truth from others, or figger it out on their own, but they'll not have learned it from us, so we done our part. So, what's fer supper?"

"Don't ask me, you spiky scoundrel - tonight's yer turn t' fix th' grub!"

00000000000

Twisher and his hares were having a hard time reading the vole family.

The Long Patrol quartet had known when they embarked on this mission that they would need to carefully gauge the temperament of every deep woodlander they met before fully divulging their purpose, lest they unwittingly share their secret with creatures sympathetic to the Purge who would go running to the Gawtrybe and spill what they'd discovered. And while these present voles didn't seem like the type to go running to tattle on one group of strongbeasts to another, the hares knew the smaller creatures wouldn't have to run anywhere - not if the Gawtrybe showed up at their door demanding answers. As would almost certainly happen, since Twisher and his companions felt certain that the squirrels shadowed their progress through the forest as they went from dwelling to dwelling.

This dwelling they had nearly missed. If Ponzillo's abode had been a traditional cabin easy to spot from scores of paces away, the voles had chosen a simpler living arrangement, advertising itself not quite so obviously. Their thatched-roof hut was built around three leaning, intersecting tree trunks in such a way that their home could very easily be mistaken for a natural, accidental depositing of leaf and branch in such a configuration. Even the Long Patrol, practiced masters of going to ground so expertly that few trackers would have any hope of discovering them, stood impressed by the quality of structural camouflage. Clearly these voles relished their privacy even more than the hedgehog family ... but then, these were no tough souls handy with club, staff or hammer, that much was clear at a glance. For them, out here in the wilds of Mossflower, keeping such a low profile may indeed have been a matter of survival.

The Long Patrol might well have passed this hut by if not for the telltale signs of habitation scattered around it that betrayed themselves to the hares' sharp eyes and keen habits of observational deduction. Now the two heads of that hidden household, Stessy and Blarcom, sat with the hares outdoors on a circle of tree stumps and fallen logs, since the close confines of their residence, scaled to mouse-sized occupants, disallowed easy access to their current visitors. Stessy bounced her babe Fody on her knee, but the hares gathered there were aware of at least two more vole youths hiding inside the family hut, too timid to show themselves to the imposing, militarist campaigners.

"I don't know ... " Blarcom said slowly after hearing Twisher out. "I don't know about this at all. Helping rats? They're usually the last beasts we'd show ourselves to, much rather hoping they pass us right by. And if they're in the kind of trouble you say they're in now, they'll be even more desperate than the villains and ruffians who might've come our way in the past."

"Maybe desperate enough to accept help from wherever they can get it," Twisher countered. "Even from a vole family they might've not thought twice about terrorizin' in the old days, before they started gettin' terrorized themselves. But it's not just thieves an' brigands we're talkin' 'bout here. We've got rats livin' with us at Redwall now, an' lots of 'em are family beasts, not much diff'rent from you folks here. Even some young ones among 'em, who've been given Abbey schooling. If t'were up to me, I'd let the Gawtrybe have all the nasty rats they want, because Mossflower really would be better off cleared of 'em. It's the others we're more concerned with - blameless beasts just leadin' their own lives without troublin' another soul, just like you are here. Wot's bein' done to them isn't right, it isn't justified, an' these pushy intruders from th' North've got no place doin' it here in Mossflower."

"But they are doing it, aren't they?" Blarcom pointed out. "Their campaign's well underway. What you ask of us ... it would be an awful lot, even if it were just about helping out rats. But it's not just about helping out a species in trouble, is it? It's about going up against the stronger force that's putting them in trouble too. And if this Badger Lord and his squirrel soldiers are powerful enough to do all you've described, why, we'd be fools to stand against them!"

"Wouldn't be standin' against 'em, not really, an' we'd not ask you to do that," said Twisher, realizing his attempt at recruitment here was most likely a lost cause. "All we'd ask of you is to steer any refugees you see a certain way, which would actshully work to your benefit as well, since it would move them along in good time an' not leave 'em loitering around here where they'd be liable to bring trouble down on you."

"Yes, but less trouble still to stay inside our home when such creatures come by, and not involve ourselves at all."

"And besides," Stessy added in support of her husband, "who's to say this badger and his squirrels aren't doing the right thing after all? A Mossflower free of rats would certainly help _me_ sleep easier at night!"

The hare quartet traded glances between themselves, the situation here clear now as to how it was going to go. "Alright, we'll take no more of you good folks' time. All we ask is you keep an open mind, wot, an' let us know if anything happens t' change your outlook. Thanks for hearin' us out, an' - "

Twisher was interrupted at that point by their two trailing Gawtrybe dropping out of the trees alongside them and striding right over to where the hares and voles sat. "Save your breath," one of the squirrels said, plainly unaware that the sergeant had been in the midst of wrapping things up with Blarcom and Stessy. "We know what you're on about, so you can just stop it right now."

The two voles were on their footpaws almost before the squirrel had finished speaking, Stessy clutching little Fody to her. "Ah, hullo, uh, erm ... we'll just head back inside, and let you patrol beasts get this sorted out between yourselves. Er, good day!" Blarcom led their hasty retreat indoors, and moments later the Gawtrybe and Long Patrol had the small clearing before the vole hut to themselves - although neither doubted the smaller creatures continued to look on and listen in from within their naturalistic abode.

Twisher regarded the Northlanders. "Still followin' us, huh? Rather like somethin' distasteful I sat in an' got stuck to my scut, an' can't quite shake free, wot?"

"We've spoken with some of the beasts you've been visiting. What we can't figure out is why you're spreading the word for fugitive rats to head north to Redwall for sanctuary, when we all know the Abbey remains under constant close surveillance and they'd never get through. So, what are you up to?"

"Maybe we know something you don't, hm?"

The two squirrels' gazes bore into the sergeant with cold accusation. "You're searching for Gawdrey, aren't you?"

This out-of-the-blue assertion caught the hares so completely off guard that they couldn't be sure whether their reactions made them look like they'd been found out or simply confronted by the unexpected. Either way, Twisher decided on the spot to run with it by throwing up a wall of plausible denial. "Wot, that place? Why'd we wanna have anything to do with a nest seething with the likes of you two?"

"Because the location of Gawdrey is meant to be confidential, and on a need-to-know basis. And no Redwaller needs to know. If you could discover this information, it would not only defeat Lord Urthblood's intent in general principle, but you might be able to use it to some tactical advantage, or share it far and wide with others who were never meant to know. This we cannot allow. We must insist you turn back now and return to Redwall."

Twisher crossed his arms, while his companions held to similarly ready and defiant stances. "Well, chap, apart from the little matter of the much-repeated phrase these days that these were our woods long before they were yours, why would you s'pose we'd be hoofin' it through these wilds the long way 'round when our Sparra could locate your fur-forsaken fortress far quicker 'n' easier from the air than we ever could from down here?"

"Perhaps it would be too obvious what they were doing, and they were intimidated by our own birds, who would certainly seek to stop them. You Long Patrol pride yourselves on your stealth. You probably thought you could slip into the forest from Grayfoot's Tavern without us noticing, and creep through the woods unobserved to make your unauthorized reconnaissance. Well, you weren't stealthy enough. Not this time!"

Telemaque glanced aside at Wilfehger. "Creep, did 'ee just say? I think I'm insulted. Did I look like I was creepin', Wilfy?"

"Not for one flippin' step, Tells. An' I know I wasn't creepin' either. Steppin' out straight an' proud in true regimental fashion we were, with nothing to hide!"

Twisher said to their accusers, "There's no beasts I'd take greater pride in tellin' they're wrong, so ... you're wrong. But even if your baseless suspicions were true, doesn't change th' bally fact that these are our woods as much as yours, if not a far sight moreso, an' we'll not be told by you or anybeast else where we can an' can't place our jolly footpaws. Now if you'll excuse us, we'll be on our way ... in the bally way we choose, wot?"

The Gawtrybe seemed hesitant to relent after laying down the law to the hares so forcefully, perhaps not expecting such resistance now after so firmly mastering the situation in the road earlier that day, when they'd browbeaten their targets into standing by and watching the undignified dismantling and inspection of their packs. After several moments of silent standoff, the squirrels stepped back to clear the path. "Very well. But we'll be watching you very closely. And if you do venture too near to territory where you're not allowed, we'll send for reinforcements ... and you _will_ be turned back."

With this parting promise of a threat, the Gawtrybe duo retreated to the treetops once more, leaving the hares free to go where they would ... for now.

The Long Patrol continued on their way down the overgrown forest path which was scarcely a path at all, keeping their conversational tone subdued so that it might reach their long ears but not those of the squirrels no doubt lurking in the branches overhead.

"Well, that was an unexpected wrinkle, eh wot sah?" Telemaque said. "Thinkin' we meant t' sniff out their treebound lair, wherever it might be, as if we had any interest in doin' that. Barkin' up the wrong bally tree, aren't they?"

"Let's hope they keep barkin' up it, 'cos anything that sends 'em searching along a false trail's just fine 'n' dandy in my book. But their concern over that has me wond'rin', it does. Why would they be so worried about that, unless we actually were near it, or headed the right way an' likely to run into it if we kept goin'? Now, everything we've been led to believe about Gawdrey puts it on the other side of the Moss, but wot if it's not? Wot if those treewallopers pulled a fast one, droppin' hints that that's where it would be, then went an' built it on our side of the flippin' river after all? Something to work the old brainbox over, it is."

"Somethin' to get worked up about, too," put in Wilfehger. "Not exactly enchanted by th' notion of those branchbangers settin' up shop so close to us. Bad 'nuff they're in Mossflower at all. Already got that soarin' fox tower peerin' down into our walls day 'n' night, so how much more is any honest hare supposed to put up with?"

"We're Long Patrol, so we'll put up with wotever's thrown at us, an' stand against it too, for the sake of Redwall an' decent creatures everywhere. But for now we'll keep on spreadin' the word we came out here to spread, an' if those bushtails put too much resistance in our way, then we'll withdraw back to the Abbey and see if our Sparra friends have any better luck than we did. Still, I'd find it a jolly kneeslapper if we set out on this jaunt to help Mossflower's distressed ratfaces an' ended up accidentally uncovering the site of that top secret squirrel place, wot!"

00000000000

Whilst Twisher's quartet made their rounds of the woodlands on the west side of the Moss, Tibball did likewise to the east.

Roxroy and another junior swordfox of the brigade named Stillafax had volunteered to accompany the rabbit Ambassador on his first diplomatic forays through the local forest south of Foxguard, since Tibball and Tolar had agreed these younger swordsbeasts might appear less formidable and intimidating to retiring woodlanders than the more hardened, seasoned veteran campaigners like Sappakit or Haddican. At least none of Jaffox's crew had passed through this part of Mossflower yet; their unrefined presence might have rendered Tibball's duties impossible.

The main bulk of the Gawtrybe - including both Lady Mina and Captain Custis - had indeed departed Foxguard along with Tibball and his two-fox escort, but they soon went their separate ways, the squirrel army racing ahead south through the treetops in their haste to reach Gawdrey by day's end while the diplomatic trio directed their pawsteps in a more southwesterly course to stick close to the Moss. Tibball had decided to pursue his earlier idea of first contacting some of the riverside otter clans who'd long been trading with Foxguard for fresh fish and thus knew the vulpines to be honest and respectable in their dealings.

Unfortunately, limited and perhaps grudging trade dealings failed to translate into any desire to aid Foxguard in any such larger effort as this. Three holts did Tibball and his companions visit that first afternoon and evening, and at all three was he rebuffed, meeting at best moderate and lukewarm wishes for success in his travels but no commitment to assist with his diplomatic outreach. As the otters put it, their tentative relations with Foxguard were theirs and theirs alone, and they balked at placing themselves in the position of having to vouch for Tolar's brigade or stand by any assertions as to the foxes' character. It would be up to each individual family and settlement in these woodlands to reach their own detente with their vulpine neighbors as it suited them, or not at all if that be their choice. But the otters firmly refused to play any part in encouraging the local residents to choose one way or the other. Not even Roxroy's assurance that he maintained a fast friendship with Redwall's otter Recorder could sway them in their obstinacy.

"Well, if 'ee's such a good friend o' yores, an' this's so important to ye," the last otter chieftain had told Roxroy rather undiplomatically, "mebbe y' should've asked _him_ t' help you out with this!"

Late afternoon hung heavy over the forestlands as the three of them departed this final holt, breaking away from the riverside and striking out into the deeper woods. "I'm sorry, Ambassador," Roxroy apologized, wracked with contrition. "I really didn't think it would be so hard. I guess it was a mistake for us to come with you. You'd have been much better off with Gawtrybe as your companions instead of us. I fear the good folk of these lands aren't ready to fully trust foxes yet, and our presence only makes your job more difficult."

"Yes, well, the whole point to my job _is_ to get them to trust you, isn't it? And that means having them get to know you eventually, so we might as well just have them face you right at the start, hadn't we? Having you with me shows we're serious about this in a way having Gawtrybe with me wouldn't, and besides, I prefer your company to theirs anyway, and since I'm the one doing the negotiating, you'll want me as fully at ease as I can be, right? And your Sword was correct in stating that having foxes as my escorts proves I really am here on behalf of Foxguard. And you two fine fellows were the best choices to stand at my side in this - full members of the brigade, but still young and fresh enough to come across as honestly earnest and free of guile. If the woodlanders in these parts are to get used to dealing with your species, they'll have to get accustomed to dealing with far worse than you two ... erm, uh, what I mean is - "

Stillafax chuckled. "No need to apologize. The senior members of our brigade, and especially the ones who went through Salamandastron, are obviously more ... hard-bitten, shall we say? We may all wear the same black uniforms and carry similar fine blades, but in our eyes and our faces and our bearings you will see differences, between the veterans and the younger brigade members, and all the way down to the cadets, none of whom would be ready for a duty such as this. And if you would deem us to come across as less threatening and more trustworthy than many of our more seasoned fellows, then that's a good sign, since it means we'd likely present that way in the eyes of other woodlanders besides you. As for Roxroy's worry that the Gawtrybe might have suited your present needs better than us, well, they didn't really give us a chance, did they? Racing off to their new stronghold like that, leaving us and Foxguard in the dust as if they couldn't wait to be rid of us."

"I suspect Sword Tolar is glad to be rid of _them_!" Roxroy said lightly. "We'll finally have our walls and our tower back to ourselves!"

"Not entirely," Stillafax reminded his comrade. "Custis left a few squirrels behind to act as liaisons and messengers, remember? And then there are those fivescore who are out with Jaffox, and likely as not to return to Foxguard before moving on to Gawdrey ... assuming they even do. Could be they're the replacement force Custis means to leave stationed with us to make up for the ones he took down to Gawdrey with him."

"That would be unfortunate. But it still doesn't do anything to address our current quandary. How are we to help Ambassador Tibball win over the local folk if even the free-spirited and accommodating otters of these parts who've already had dealings with Foxguard refuse to aid us? I surely imagined they'd be willing to do so, and their presence among us would have gone so far toward quelling any qualms of nervous or uncertain goodbeasts, who are only more likely to be wary of us than otters are."

"Quelling qualms of our current quandary?" Stillafax playfully jibed. "Tell me again who's been spending too much time around that otter Librarian at Redwall, with all his fancy words?"

"He's a Recorder and historian, not a librarian," Roxroy shot back in equal good humor.

"Oh, like there's really a difference!"

Roxroy yielded a conceding smile. "No, I suppose there isn't. Not much of one, anyway."

This friendly banter cheered Tibball; it was not a side of Tolar's swordfoxes he saw too often, and reminded him that there was more to these beasts than the grim professionalism of their military aspect, and he knew the Sword had chosen his escorts well. If only he could get Roxroy and Stillafax to show some of this fond camaraderie in front of the creatures they sought to establish better relations with, their battle would be half won.

"Well, there's no cause for despair just yet," the rabbit told the two foxes. "While it certainly would have been a great help having those otters making this tour with us, we'll just have to see what we can get done without them, won't we? And we can't very well take the uncooperative attitudes of a mere three otter holts as a portent of what we'll run into at all our stops, can we? It's only our first day out, after all, and that day's not even done yet! We've enough daylight left for one more visit, if we keep our pace up, and I'm hopeful it may prove a more fruitful visit than our riverside negotiations turned out to be!"

"Oh? What makes you say that?" Roxroy asked.

"In case you've forgotten, the woods south of Foxguard are my lifelong home. And while I may never have made it as far from my humble abode as the holts of the otters who this day have spurned our advances, we're now heading into my familiar stomping grounds which I know like the back of my paw. We'll be meeting with creatures who already know me, either personally or through family and neighborly connections, and that should make our job so much easier than with folk who don't know me at all, shouldn't it?"

"That rather hinges on what they think of you, doesn't it?" Stillafax put forth, half-joking.

"Ah, yes, uh, it would, wouldn't it? But I'm not worried; I've done my share of helpful errands for the residents of these parts over the seasons, so there's undoubtedly some reserve of good will I can tap into now to catch their ears and earn us a fair hearing. I've one destination in particular that I think holds good potential and might be our best starting point."

"I thought the otter holts were our starting point?" said Roxroy.

"Okay, our _next_ starting point, then. So let's save our breath for walking rather than talking, and see if we can get there before sundown! It'll hardly help our purpose if two armed foxes are seen approaching at dusk, will it?"

Tibball might not have boasted the most formidable of physiques, but one thing rabbits (and their cousins) were good at was staying on their feet. Even this day's extended excursion had done little to sap him of his strength, thanks in large part to the time spent sitting at each of the three otter holts. It also helped that Roxroy and Stillafax bore the bulk of their provisions and supplies, and did so without protest or resentment; indeed, if their seasons of endless drilling had not left them more than prepared to tackle so modest a march as this, that would serve as a doubly poor reflection on both themselves and their training. Thus, they let Tibball set the pace and faced no challenge keeping up with him at all in spite of their weightier burdens.

Sundown saw them reaching the outskirts of a proper settlement, an aspiring town consisting of over a dozen obvious structures, along with some additional not-so-obvious dreys in the treetops above and mounds signifying underground warrens. The dwelling arrangement was just sparse enough that this community would likely not have been easily spotted from Foxguard, hidden in the depths of the woods although smoke rising from its chimneys and cookfires might at times betray its presence.

A squirrel and a hedgehog stood in the small clearing at the center of the buildings, deep in discussion over a millstone while a mole tottered along nearby under the burden of a two-pailed water-carrying yoke weighing on his shoulders and several mice and a 'hogwife tended their spring gardens. All conversation and activity stopped and all heads turned their way as the rabbit and two foxes strode into this modest town square, and for many moments villagers and visitors simply stood staring at each other, Tibball and his companions with the most outgoing and benevolent expressions they could summon and the townsfolk with apprehensive incredulity over this mismatched trio.

"Um, hullo!" Tibball opened, addressing himself to everybeast and nobeast. "I don't know if any of you might remember or recognize my name, but I'm Tibball, and my sister Maddle and her family and I have visited you a few times."

The squirrel stepped away from the hedgehog with the millstone and came to stand before Tibball, although his attention was as much on Roxroy and Stillafax as the rabbit. Other squirrels were turning out on the sturdy boughs of the dreys above, most with bows and blades although mercifully none immediately brandished their arms in any threatening manner.

"Yes, I remember Maddle and her husband and their little ones," he told Tibball. "And I seem to remember you visiting us once too ... when you needed food and drink we were only too happy to sacrifice for your benefit. Can't say I'm impressed with the company you're keeping nowadays."

"Ah, yes, well, these fox fellows are finer folk than you might have reason to think. That's why we're here, in fact. Um, I was actually hoping that I might have a few words with your esteemed mouse elder, uh, Preston, isn't it?"

"Pesron. His name's Pesron."

"Ah, yes, him. Actually, a meeting with him and yourself and the other community leaders, if I might impose upon you for such a thing, would be ideal, um ... Scudder, wasn't it?"

"Suddath. My name's Suddath."

"Oh, yes, right, of course. It has been a season or three since I was last here, you know."

"Or five."

"Oh, yes? Well, even more reason to be a little fuzzy on the names, then, isn't it?"

Roxroy and Stillafax shot a glance between them; all of their introductions to the otter holts had gotten off more smoothly than this - and this was supposed to be Tibball's own neighborhood, where their mission was, according to the rabbit, most likely to meet with success!

"You don't need to go into any long-winded explanations," Suddath said. "The Gawtrybe were through here earlier, and they alerted us that you might be coming, this day or next, and what your purpose is. We'll hear you out, as a matter of courtesy, and because we promised Captain Custis we would, but beyond that, we will promise nothing."

"Well, that's ... that's only fair, I suppose. An honest, open-minded hearing is all we ask. Most thoughtful of the Captain to prepare the way for us like that. Saves us a lot of words and a lot of breath, doesn't it?"

Suddath regarded the two foxes coolly. "Why you didn't just stick with squirrels as your envoys is a mystery to me."

"With all due respect, good sir," Roxroy implored of Suddath, "the Gawtrybe will now have a stronghold of their own, and their own affairs to look after. We are here for ourselves, not them, even if we are allies who both serve Lord Urthblood. Foxguard has been your neighbor for three seasons now, remiss as we may have been in acting as full neighbors. That is an oversight we seek to address now with this current effort."

"Um, what he said," Tibball seconded, wondering whether his role of Ambassador had just been usurped.

"Very well. Come along then, and let's get this over with ... "

Pesron and his extended family occupied the largest dwelling in the village, aside from perhaps the mole warrens, which were spread out underground and hardly conducive to sizable gatherings. Now most of the mice had been chased out to wait at neighbors' while the heads of all the various families gathered in the central hall of the mouse lodge, a more modest counterpart to Deakyne's riverside housing in southern Mossflower. With Tibball seated at the center and a fox at either paw, mouse and mole and hedgehog and squirrel assembled in the quaint if spacious chamber, all curious to hear how the rabbit liaison would present his case and how these proceedings would unfold.

Tibball had his basic presentation well rehearsed and practiced by this time, between all the occasions when he'd run through it in his head at Foxguard and his prior opportunities to give it that very day at the three otter holts. For now, however, he modified his emphasis and choice of words somewhat, knowing that otter holts and mixed woodland communities each had different concerns and priorities, and he must tailor his delivery to each. The burly waterbeasts feared little, entirely capable of looking after not only themselves but their less formidable neighbors who might need a webbed paw in times of crisis. These forest folk, in spite of the moles' warrens which provided subterranean shelter and the squirrels' ability to scout and fight from the treetops, nevertheless lay open to the wider woods around them, with no walls behind which to shelter if trouble came upon them - something of which Tibball had grown most mindful due to his time at Redwall, and the high defensive bulwark taken for granted by the Abbeyfolk which shaped their collective psyche and informed their world view, perhaps without them fully realizing the extent to which it did so.

Thus did Tibball frame his arguments now, putting forth the swordsbeasts of Foxguard as noble and valiant defenders of Mossflower on a par with any stalwart otter tribe. These foxes, he stressed, served a great and mighty Badger Lord who sought to unite all creatures of the lands for the common good, to meet a terrible crisis foretold by a prophecy given to him nearly thirty seasons before, and this obedience to so noble a creature just by itself made Tolar's brigade unlike any fox clan in history. Moreover, their close kinship and cooperation with Redwall stood as proof that they saw themselves as standing as a twin to that Abbey, a fellow champion of peace and security. And their alliance with the Gawtrybe, of which these villagers had seen evidence this very day, underscored how Urthblood had succeeded in persuading beasts of all species, even former enemies, to work together in shared purpose to achieve what had never been achieved before.

Tibball was quite proud of himself by the time he finished, ending with an impassioned plea for the local folk to embrace Foxguard as a trusted neighbor that came across as so heartfelt that even Roxroy and Stillafax regarded him with new respect by the time it was over. Inwardly, Tibball gave silent thanks that the recent troubles between Redwall and Urthblood were not likely to have filtered over to this side of the Moss, since that would have undermined a huge portion of his argument. As it turned out, however, his audience needed no such knowledge to start niggling at the edges of his position.

"That badger's uniting all creatures, y' say?" Suddath asked. "What about rats? It's pretty common knowledge 'round here that the Gawtrybe're rounding up every rat they can find and marching them right out of Mossflower. And it doesn't seem like he's doin' it for their own benefit, either."

"Not that we're complainin'," put in the hedgehog patriarch Ameegah.

"Yes, well, about that ... " Tibball went into another rehearsed portion of his spiel, one he'd hoped to leave unvoiced if he could. He touched upon the broad outlines of the Accord between Urthblood and Tratton, and how one clause had freed all the searats' woodlander slaves in exchange for the rats of Mossflower and the Northlands, so that what they were seeing now was only the reciprocol end of an agreement which had led so many decent creatures out of suffering and bondage to freedom.

Suddath was almost impressed. "Sounds like a good trade to me, put like that. Maybe this badger knows what he's on about after all. Then again, maybe building such a huge tower and massive fortress for his foxes was a way of buying their loyalty, to make sure they stayed on his side. Problem is, if he's all the way out on the coast and they're here, who's to say they'll always remain loyal to him and his vision, and not fall back into their old verminous ways?"

"The Gawtrybe, for one," Roxroy muttered, then raised his voice and dispensed with the sarcasm. "Such a question is not entirely unjustified, and your concerns are valid. But I can assure you Foxguard was not just a bribe to keep us in line, any more than was the splendid blade Lord Urthblood forged for our commanding Sword to bear and wield in the name of our master's cause, or the power and responsibility entrusted to our brigade to oversee all the other so-called vermin in our Lord's service to ensure their fealty and proper behavior. And we can never go back to our old ways, not now that we have known the hospitality and friendship of Redwall, and earned the trust and respect of both those Abbeybeasts and so many good creatures in the North. It is that same trust and respect we hope to win from you, although we realize full well we shall have to earn it, just as we did in the Northlands. Of course, there, war and strife always lay just behind every tree, and so we had ample opportunity to prove which side we were on - opportunity we've largely been denied here in peaceful Mossflower, where we came and built our stronghold when no turmoil roiled these lands and no war threatened. I cannot blame you for being suspicious of us in such circumstances. But the great catastrophe Lord Urthblood foresees had not yet come to full fruition, and Foxguard was built to help meet the challenges of those times when they arrive. We are your neighbor, your friend and your protector, if only you will accept us as such. If you have no need of such from us now, perhaps someday you will ... and on that day, we will be here to aid you however we may."

Pesron's gaze went to the swords strapped at the two foxes' sides. "And yet you sit among us armed, as creatures who seek to intimidate us might."

"We would have relinquished them at your request, had you only asked."

"Would you do that now, gladly and freely?"

"Perhaps not gladly, for our blades are a symbol of our rank and station, and as crucial to our identity as the Gawtrybe's bows are to theirs. Not lightly do we disarm for any beast, or any occasion. That being said ... " Roxroy reached down and unbuckled his scabbard from his belt, presenting his sheathed sword to Suddath, who accepted it with a modicum of surprise. Seeing what his comrade had done, Stillafax emulated Roxroy's example without hesitation, undoing his scabbard and passing it to the uncertain mole father Girgis.

"This we do as a symbolic gesture of how important these talks are to us," Roxroy declared, "and how much we value friendship and good relations with our neighbors in Mossflower."

The discussion carried on for some time after that, with Tibball continuing to espouse the advantages of closer ties with Foxguard in terms of mutual defense, aid in times of sickness or shortage or natural hardship, and the other benefits that went paw-in-paw with such very different groups sharing neighborly friendship. The rabbit's thoughts would occasionally dart to such concerns as Jaffox or the more unsettling aspects of Mona's studies or the frightening fanaticism with which these swordsbeasts kept up their blade skills, but all of these he kept to himself. The villagers, growing more easy as the evening wore on with having foxes in their midst, asked questions which slowly became less mocking or suspicious and more genuine, their hard-nosed skepticism giving way to legitimate personable curiosity as Tibball and the two vulpines put on their best diplomatic face and sought to fully engage with these folks as equals.

And yet, in spite of all this, when the meeting broke up as night fell and the foxes were returned their blades, the three visitors were extended a welcome to spend the night - out of doors, excluded from any homestead under whose roof the residents would slumber serenely shielded from the elements. It seemed these mice, moles, squirrels and hedgehogs were not quite convinced enough to trust foxes that far, or extend them the full hospitality of home and hearth.

"Well," Roxroy said as he and Stillafax laid out the bedrolls generously donated by the village squirrels, staking out their spots under the stars in the central clearing between dwellings, "at least it looks to be a clear evening, with no threat of rain. A little fresh air never hurt anybeast."

"Maybe we'll have better luck at our next stop," Stillafax grumbled, "especially if our fine Ambassador is a little better known there ... and if he gets the names of the village leaders right."

Tibball, hearing this jibe as he settled in between his hedgehog-loaned blankets, gave a sour grimace. "Knew I should have waited for my uniform to arrive from Redwall," he muttered to himself. "Folk always give more respect to a beast in uniform."


	20. Chapter XIX

**XIX.**

 **MOSSFLOWER**

That same afternoon saw the full force of the Gawtrybe arrive at their new home in Mossflower - and Lady Mina was in for some surprises.

As the late spring sun dipped low, keeping the highest treetops ablaze with green brilliance even as the forest floor below was cast into the grayer gloom of approaching evening, Mina noticed they had changed course yet again in their massed dash through the canopy, veering slightly left and westward. Soon, glimpses and glimmers of the glittering Moss reached her eye here and there through the foliage, leading her to realize they now roughly paralleled that broadstream, and at only a short distance too.

"So, Gawdrey is built right on the Moss after all?" she inquired of Custis during one of their increasingly-frequent rests up in the branches; eager as they all were to arrive at Gawdrey, none wished to exhaust themselves with the effort.

The Captain flashed a secretly playful smile. "I wouldn't know, Lady. I've never seen it."

She almost smacked him, then glanced down. "I've noticed some fresh stumps and thinned areas where trees must have stood until very recently. Your work, I presume?"

He nodded. "Our work - that of the Gawtrybe. Remember, except for Corporal Arway, none of us have ever been down this far, stationed at Foxguard and concentrating our own efforts in that area as we've been."

"Still, we must be very close to the site, if you were taking trees from around here."

"You might assume that, wouldn't you? But that's been part of our strategy in keeping a low profile and not calling too much attention to what we were doing. We knew that if we felled all the trees needed to build Gawdrey in one spot, like the shrews did for Doublegate, we'd leave a huge gap in the woods which would advertise exactly where we were. Hence, we ranged quite far out from the central site for our forestry labors, even if it meant having to drag logs an entire day back to where they were needed. We took down trees over a very wide area, so that no single spot would become noticeably denuded."

"Hmm. You seem to know an awful lot about these methods, for somebeast who's never been to this stretch of the forest before."

"All part of the advance planning, along with the periodic updates I've been receiving from the construction team."

"Ah. So a little birdy told you, hm?"

"Not so little, in the case of Altidor and Klystra. Now, shall we be on our way again?"

A short distance farther on, Mina noticed the intermittent river dimming to her glimpsed views, far more abruptly than the gradual approach of twilight could account for.

"I know this place!" she breathlessly called out to Custis as they raced alongside each other along the limbs and branches. "I've seen it from the tower at Foxguard - a place where the forest grows so thickly that it overhangs the Moss entirely, and the river flows hidden from view from above, swallowed by the trees!"

Again, Custis smiled. "You're getting warmer, Lady!"

And not long after that, they were there.

Corporal Arway, leading the arboreal procession, called a halt to their progress on the boughs of a grand and sturdy oak a short arrow's flight from the banks of the Moss, bidding all his companions to spread out on the limbs above and below and around him so that they might behold their first glimpse of their new fortress - and then it became immediately apparent why he had not led them down to the ground for the last of their approach, since the view from down there would not have been half what it was from this vantage.

Even with their sharp, forest-accustomed vision, it took Mina and most of her fellow squirrels some moments to appreciate what lay before them, staring long and hard before the roof slats and platforms and wall partitions fully resolved themselves to the onlookers' perceptions, gradually emerging from the leaves and bark and branches to proclaim itself a structure wrought by beasts' paws and not by the whims of nature. So integrated into its natural surroundings was the architecture of Gawdrey that its designed camouflage was nearly enough to hide it from the eyes of those who would be living there, even though they now stood almost at its very perimeter.

Having firmly grasped what she beheld, Mina turned her gaze to the right, as did many of her fellows, following the now-revealed contours of the clandestine fortress out along their full extent - and only then did the true audacity of this undertaking hit her.

Gawdrey was not situated on the east side of the River Moss.

Nor was it located on the west side of the river.

It was built on _both_ sides.

Only with the greatest of concentration could Mina discern the tenuous assembly of planks and ropes woven through the branches where the trees on opposing banks met over the flowing waters, an artificial pathway melding so completely with the limbs containing it that boating traffic might well pass directly underneath it without ever guessing such a bridge spanned the Moss, connecting the two equally-hidden halves of the squirrel stronghold. Here truly was a fortress designed for their species, since no other creature could easily avail itself of these lofty features.

Except that, now that she scrutinized the nearer portion of the double-drey, Mina wondered whether "fortress" or "stronghold" were appropriate words to apply to what she beheld. "I know you said it wasn't entirely finished, but it looks pretty ... well, _open_ to me."

Arway grinned. "Yes, Lady, I can see how it might look that way at first glance. But let us show you around, so you can see it in more detail!"

As they passed from their present oak onto the trees into which the fortress was built, Mina glanced down and noticed a pair of rough-hewn rafts abutting the banks, one on either side of the river. In answer to her comment on them, Arway explained, "Even though the skybridge across the Moss was one of the first things we built, it's really only strong enough for lightly-encumbered squirrels to pass along singly, or in small groups. There were times during the construction when we needed to move more substantial burdens from bank to bank, so we lashed together a couple of crude barges for the purpose. Once they're no longer needed, they can be dismantled and their timber put to other uses - although we have considered keeping one intact, for any possible future requirements, or in case the skybridge should ever become compromised for any reason."

"Makes sense. Although I was going to say it might be courteous to donate at least one of them to the Redwallers at the quarry, since Jaffox relieved them of two of theirs."

"That might be something worth considering," Custis agreed with Mina. "Although now that Gawdrey stands mostly finished, that will free up enough labor to craft as many more vessels as we need. We already gifted Foxguard with those two new barges before our departure, but if we switch to a strategy of moving the rats to the coast via the Moss instead of overland, we might require even more - especially with Jaffox and those Gawtrybe reinforcements picking up the pace of our sweeps and resettlement efforts."

Knowing to expect their High Lady and regional commander this day, all the advance construction crew had assembled on this side of the Moss in welcome, momentarily abandoning the half-fortress on the west banks. Now, by their dozens, they crowded the floor decks and weighed down the open branches of their double-drey headquarters, standing at formal attention to receive the remainder of their forces, reunited here once more except for the few who'd remained behind at Foxguard to represent the Gawtrybe there. Arway stepped onto the first perimeter platform they reached, then helped Mina down onto it as well, even if she was perfectly capable of doing it entirely on her own, and might normally balk at such delicate chivalry. But this opening of Gawdrey was a special occasion, both for the new arrivals and those who'd labored so long and hard on this endeavor, so she held her tongue, content to play the part demanded by ceremony.

"Welcome to Gawdrey, Lady. Captain."

Mina, having already commented on the overly open and sparse structure, ignored that for now and addressed another concern which occurred to her. "Thank you, Corporal. Are you sure it's wise to have the branches of the surrounding trees connecting directly to Gawdrey? I'd think you'd want to establish a buffer zone, like the clearing around Foxguard, for security reasons."

"The point was discussed and debated, Lady. In the end it came down to a question of secrecy versus security, and practicality as well. Taking down all the tress immediately surrounding Gawdrey, especially were we to do it on both sides of the river, might call exactly the kind of attention to ourselves we hope to avoid, and as long as there's a chance we can keep Gawdrey's exact location a secret from most of Mossflower, we went with secrecy. Those trees can always be felled at a later time, if our location becomes common knowledge, but there's no way to put them back up again once they're down, so we felt that was best left as our second option. Besides, with the way we'll be able to guard all approaches with our regular rotation of patrols, there's no foe who'll catch us by surprise - or that we'll not be able to annihilate or beat back before they knew what hit them!"

"Hmm. And none of the locals happened to notice all of you here building this fortress right in their midst?"

"There aren't that many locals in these parts - one of the reasons this spot was considered ideal for our purposes, once we'd fully scouted it out. Oh, there are a few scattered homesteads within a half-day from here. But we had lookouts posted constantly during every phase of construction, and dissuaded any curious onlookers from venturing close enough to see what we were doing here."

"Good thinking. And while I appreciate how necessary it all was to get Gawdrey done, it seems a loss to have had so many resources diverted for so long from the resettlement campaign. I trust that will no longer be the case?"

"I should think so, Lady. There's still some work left to be done on Gawdrey, but it's mostly in the area of fixtures and furnishings - nothing major which will require the attention of more than a small portion of our numbers. The bulk of our forces will now be free to join in the sweeps and push on with Lord Urthblood's campaign here in Mossflower!"

"I trust Jaffox and his forces will have the campaign well in paw in the woodlands north of Foxguard," said Custis. "And we've already made great progress in cleaning out most of the known rat population east of Foxguard and moving them along to the coast. We'll leave the rest of that region to Jaffox as well, and focus our own efforts in this section of Mossflower before sweeping south. There's still enough to keep us busy for another season or more, if you count all the woods and glades and waterways between here and the Dancing Cliffs. Just cleaning out the woods all around the shores of the Big Inland Lake could take the better part of summer by itself."

"What of those rats living on the island at the center of that inland sea?" Arway asked. "Getting at them won't be easy."

"I have no specific orders regarding them, but they are, strictly speaking, rats of the lands, so the Accord surely applies to them as well. There's a good chance Tratton learnt of them through Snoga, so we'll have to go after them eventually. But they're not going anywhere. They'll sit tight right where they are until we're ready to deal with them."

"And what of the southern Badger Lord we've heard about? Once we shift our efforts well south of here, we'll be getting into his territory, and by all accounts, he's not exactly enamored of Lord Urthblood, or this campaign. What if he seeks to interfere, either directly or by raising some of the creatures of lower Mossflower against us?"

"All the more reason to let Jaffox have as much of these northern parts of Mossflower as he wants. As distressing as this season's clash between Lord Urthblood and Redwall has been, at least it's keeping that rival badger at the Abbey out of suspicion and fear that he may be needed to help defend it - and as long as he's there, he can't be down in lower Mossflower opposing us there as well. If we move fast, we may be able to stay ahead of any efforts on his part to rally opposition to us in his limited realm." Custis turned to Mina. "Of course, Her Ladyship has spent time with this Sodexo, and knows his mind and temperament better than any of us. What say you to this, Lady?"

"I say he's got his dungeon up higher than is good for him. But you're right, Captain, in that as long as he tarries at Redwall, he's no great concern of ours. Our campaign is well underway and ongoing, and he'd be hard-pressed to interfere with it now in any substantial way. Now, shall we see more of Gawdrey, while the daylight holds?"

"Of course, Lady," said Arway. "This way, if you please."

Although Mina could not have known it, never having been there herself, Gawdrey held more than a passing resemblance to Drey Barrenoak; both squirrel habitats consisted of a multilevel series of dwelling and labor platforms, all loosely connected by stairs which were often no more than single slats notched and nailed into the living wood, and sometimes not even that, with egress between floors or areas gained by clambering along the bare branches. But it was the open, mostly-wall-less design which still struck Mina the most, compelling her to remark on it again.

"Gawdrey is supposed to be a fortress, a stronghold - yet how can it be worthy of those names if its sides lie so open and exposed?"

"Well, Lady, there are different kinds of defenses, and it only makes sense that we squirrels would have defenses tailored to our own strengths, wouldn't it?" Arway explained. "As I've already mentioned, construction is not entirely finished, although the superstructure is. We felt it was most important to get all the floors and roofing in place, so we'd have somewhere to stand and walk and sleep, and shelter over our head to hold off the rain and protect our supplies and tools and weapons. Now that that's all done, it's just a matter of filling in the gaps, as it were. And we've come up with some novel ways of doing just that. Here, let me show you."

They now stood in the third "room" through which they'd passed, but the first to have anything resembling walls. Arway went over to one section of the vertical structure and, to Mina's surprise, popped it out of position quite easily and carried it over to her. It was a wood frame, roughly as wide as a squirrel and only slightly taller than one, woven throughout its framed space with a light wicker that made it very easy to handle and would provide a visible barrier of privacy but didn't look like it would do much more than that.

"Doesn't look very ... substantial," she assessed. "Or like it was installed especially securely."

"Substantial enough to stop arrows, Lady, and all but the most heavily-thrown spears. And don't be fooled by how easily I removed it from its bracing; these panels are dislodged readily from behind, but from in front, the side an enemy would face, they're rock solid. It's a concept of Lord Urhtblood's - movable shielding. Rather than solid walls - although we will have some of those too, where appropriate - most of Gawdrey's walls will consist of these panels, which can be reconfigured as we see fit, and on very short notice. We can literally change the shape of Gawdrey on the fly, even in the middle of a battle, to assemble instant bulwarks against an attacker's front lines, no matter which direction they assail us from, or even on multiple fronts. This malleable, adaptive defense, combined with our ability to own the surrounding forest canopy and shower death down upon a besieging force from above, will render our new home base a stronghold no foe would dare assail ... or would regret very badly if they dared try!"

"And they lend camouflage to our new home too," Custis pointed out, gesturing at how the outer face of the panel shield was festooned with bits of leaf and moss. "Once we have enough of these fabricated to completely enclose the sections of Gawdrey where we'll be the most active, passersby will be able to walk right by and under us and likely never suspect there was an entire military garrison anywhere in the vicinity."

"Although of course," Arway added, "we'll maintain constant patrols of the approaches on both sides of the Moss, to discourage such wanderers from venturing too close - and to do more than just discourage anybeast who's got more than just innocent wandering in mind."

"Seems to me that might call more attention to ourselves than just letting them pass freely," Mina said.

"Yes, we'll have to assess each situation on its own merits," Custis responded. "If it looks like lying low will serve us better than active involvement, we'll go that route. Flexibility and adaptability are what Gawdrey was designed to be all about, to reflect our own species' most advantageous traits."

Mina continued to stare dubiously at the dislodged panel, and its fellows still held in place to form a partial wall around their current platform. "And what about winter? I can _not_ see those providing very good protection against howling winds and bitter cold."

"Right now Gawdrey's specifications are those of a warm-weather redoubt," Custis explained, sparing Arway from further pointed cross-examination. "So, that's how we built it, to meet the immediate needs of the present campaign. Once it gets to be fall, we'll embark on a second phase of construction, which will consist of two hardwood-walled, completely-enclosed, stove-heated barracks, each of a size to sleep fifty Gawtrybe at any one time."

"That's a hundred, and I presume there will always be meant to be a shift of scouts and lookouts at any given time of day or night. Still that seems insufficient to meet the needs of your current force."

"On the contrary, Lady, Gawdrey is designed to support a force of as many as four hundred Gawtrybe in Mossflower at any given time."

"Four hundred? But that's twice what you currently ... oh, wait. Jaffox."

Custis nodded. "That's right. The hundred squirrels he brought with him brings our total forces in Mossflower to three hundred already. Now, that might be all we'll need - or it might not. Who's to say Lord Urthblood won't order additional reinforcements down from the North before our work here is done?"

"But those numbers still don't add up. If Gawdrey will only be able to sleep a hundred at a time ... "

"Come winter. Right now, with no need to extensively shelter from the elements, we can accommodate as many as we could fit on our floors and branches - probably the full four hundred, if we had to. It'd be crowded, but we could do it. But the thing is, we still have a great many sweeps to conduct, over extensive areas of central and southern Mossflower. And with so many of the nearer woods already cleared except for isolated pockets, we'll need to range farther and farther afield to carry out those sweeps - perhaps two or three days' travel, even with the speed we can manage through the treetops. And that's not counting the far greater time needed to actually carry out the operations. So, while there might be anywhere from three hundred to four hundred Gawtrybe active in Mossflower at a time, only a small portion of them are ever likely to be here at Gawdrey at the same time."

"While the sweeps are underway. But surely you expect them to be over by winter? There can't be _that_ many rats in Mossflower!"

"If operations conclude before winter, then we'll not need our full number anymore, will we? I suspect some will be redeployed back North or, more likely, assigned to Salamandastron to bolster our defenses there once more. Or perhaps the campaign will extend into Southsward after all. If our winter population drops to two hundred, we wouldn't even need three rotating shifts, since half would be able to sleep or shelter inside the heated barracks at any one time. And as for those on active duty, we're from the North, and likely we've all seen winters far harsher than anything Mossflower can throw at us!"

"You might be surprised, Captain. While last winter held fairly mild, I've heard that some winters in Mossflower can be quite bitter. And one of the most frigid nights I ever spent was actually two summers ago, in the high pass of the mountains between Salamandastron and the Western Plains. So don't be lulled by this region's more southern latitudes and overall pleasantness in the warmer seasons. It can be quite chill at times too."

"While chill isn't likely to be a concern anytime soon, Lady," Arway cut in, "we did prepare a chamber especially for you, two levels above this one, in anticipation of your arrival. It's completely enclosed for your privacy, and outfitted with all the amenities Gawdrey currently has to offer. Nothing as fine as a Redwall bed, though, I'm afraid."

"Yes," Mina commented, looking around, "I notice quite a few strung hammocks along with the bedrolls you had with you at the Abbey. Not a furnishing I'd expected to find."

"An idea inspired by Drey Barrenoak, across the river," explained Arway. "I saw that arrangement during my negotiations with them there on Lord Urthblood's behalf, and realized it made perfect sense for Gawdrey as well, at least until it's more fully furnished. Most of these hammocks were actually made by Deltus's clan, in fact, since I am forced to admit they are much better at the craft than any of us, as might be expected since they sleep almost exclusively in hammocks. We've been trading with them for their hammocks, and anything else of use they've been able to supply us with."

"And how is that alliance with Barrenoak doing? I've been curious about that."

"It's not so much an alliance as a cooperative agreement, Lady. They've consented to alert us to the presence of any rats in their territory and leave the rest to us. They've already directed us to a cottage full of squatters we successfully cleaned out, along with a couple of smaller wandering bands who are on their way to the coast now."

"That sounds promising, at least. But I assume no Barrenoak squirrels have been to Gawdrey?"

"Not by invitation, ma'am. We've had to turn back a few curious souls on the west side of the Moss, who might have been from Barrenoak or might have been from more local clans or families. I'm sure if Deltus really wanted to, he could gain a pretty good idea of our location just by sending out scouts and figuring out where they're _not_ allowed to go. He's no dim chieftain. But he's never really struck me as that curious about the matter, and I'm not sure I can see him going to that kind of trouble over it."

"The best kind of neighbor, I would say - one who's there for what we need him for, but who'll not impose himself on us unnecessarily. Now, are all your squirrels here, or are any of them out on sweeps?"

Custis answered for Arway. "The construction crews were excused from the active side of the resettlement campaign to focus their efforts on completing Gawdrey in the best possible time, as I'm sure you can understand. They've taken part in no sweeps."

"Except for a pawful of squirrels I dispatched on a couple of occasions to take care of the rats Deltus found for us," Arway amended. "But they always returned quickly after passing the detainees onto Captain Choock's shrews, bringing us back to full strength. The rest of the time, as Captain Custis states, the entirety of our efforts have been directed toward manual labor and perimeter patrols."

"But that changes starting tomorrow," Custis declared. "While some aspects of construction will continue - mostly with the fabrication of additional wicker wall panel shielding to more fully enclose the living and work areas - now that our main force has relocated here from Foxguard, this becomes our new base of operations, effective immediately. All further sweep teams for central and southern Mossflower will be coordinated and sent out from here, and return here after each mission for their new assignments. I want everything up and running to meet these needs by sunrise."

Arway grinned. "Then it's a good thing I placed special priority on getting the map room ready. You'll find it fully outfitted for immediate use, sir."

"Excellent. I brought along some preliminary maps I drew up at Foxguard, based on our birds' aerial surveillance and scouting of this region, so our work on that score is already half-finished. We should be able to get the rest of these immediate woodlands fully scouted and cleared in very short order, and then we can turn our attention south to the area around Lorr Bridge and the broadstream there." Custis looked to Mina, finally voicing a question long lingering on his mind. "Has Your Ladyship given any thought as to whether she might care to join us in our campaign, and perhaps even participate directly yourself?"

This question seemed to send the Gawtrybe Lady into considered contemplation. At length she replied, "If you'd asked me that earlier this season, I would have said that my place as a Redwaller required a measure of neutrality from me on the matter. Now ... now, I suppose I am free to do as I please in this regard, without any concerns of diplomatic appearances or obligations to my fellow Abbeybeasts ... or former fellow Abbeybeasts, as the case may be. And with Alexander away at Salamandastron, my main incentive for attempting to heal that breach has gone missing. Until he returns, I cannot even think in terms of any future place I may have at Redwall. And I've had enough of Foxguard's charms for this season, so at Gawdrey will I dwell ... and if the whole point of Gawdrey is to serve as the heart of the present campaign, then I suppose I shall have some role to play in these events. I'm certainly not going to sulk away my days shut up in the chamber Corporal Arway has prepared for me, so when you are ready to foray forth, say the word, and I shall be at your side."

 **FOXGUARD**

"We have everything we need. Why can't we just get started?"

"Not everything." Kyslith stood at Mona's side in the central cellar chamber directly under the tower, the two foxes staring down into the vast metal tub. The vessel now stood empty, having been drained of its corrosive contents by Trelayne upon completion of Machus's statue, at Tolar's special and personal request. Kyslith pointed down into the vat, at its flat bottom and upward-curving sides. "It needs to be recoated before we can proceed, as I explained to you at Redwall."

"Yes, you've said, but it looks perfectly fine to me," the vixen protested. "The wax is all still there, and if it was sufficient to contain the vitriol before, why wouldn't it still be so now?"

"For one thing, it's been exposed to the air for quite a few days now, which might have led to some drying and cracking. My bigger concern, however, is that during the draining process the coating may have gotten nicked, gouged or scratched. Even the tiniest break in the coating, barely visible to the naked eye, could allow the fluid to attack the metal and slowly eat its way through, leading to an eventual rupture ... and trust me, dealing with such a volume, a breach is one thing you do _not_ want to happen."

Mona gazed down at the exposed interior in lament. "But it seems we have all the wax here we need. Can't it be ... well, reused, somehow? It would seem a waste to discard it all."

"I would have to scrape it all off anyway, to apply the new coat. I'd planned to melt it all down to use for candles; it may have absorbed some slight traces of the solution, but not enough that would make its smoke hazardous to inhale."

"If you'd planned to melt it all down anyway, why not just melt it and reapply it to the tub?"

"I suppose I could, if forced to it. But I'd be worried about impurities and contaminants picked up during the scraping and re-melting process. The coating must be even, continuous and unbroken, or else we'd risk the same danger as we would with nicks and scratches. Any small foreign bits that get into the melted wax - particles which would be inconsequential for candle-making purposes - could ruin the entire job. Master Trelayne always re-coated his vessels, large and small, after the kind of extensive use these have been given, and always did he discard the old wax in favor of new."

"Hmm. And I can guess which beast he left such labors to."

"Some tasks just need to be done, Mona, and as his apprentices, Tolomeo and I were only too happy to assist with such jobs. He had more important matters to occupy his time and attention."

"But your seasons of apprenticeship are over. You are the master here now, Kyslith. And you do not have to do everything exactly as Trelayne did."

The male fox looked at her sharply. "One apprentices under an expert for many seasons for a reason, Mona. I am hardly about to disregard any aspects of Master Trelayne's teachings which inconvenience us now. I will not tell you how to minister to the sick and injured; please do not presume to know my own long-practiced trade better than I do."

Mona backed down at this pointed admonition, even as she inwardly delighted at the growing confidence, assertiveness and independence suggested by this display of firmness. "My apologies. I did not mean to second-guess you, or question your own expertise. But I would feel remiss in failing to point out that it is now your expertise, as a newly-ascended master in your own right and Foxguard's resident glassmaker, and not Trelyane's anymore."

Kyslith sighed. "I appreciate your efforts to instill a greater sense of self-worth in me, Mona, but just because I have declared myself my own master out from under Trelayne does not make me his equal. For this nascent part of my solitary career, I am still best served by minding the wisdom of my teacher, and following his example. To stray from that, and spurn what has always worked best in this oft-dangerous calling, would be folly."

"Perhaps so - although I would also not see you so restricted or held in thrall to your prior master that you hold yourself back from becoming his worthy successor in your own right. Just because something was always done one way does not mean it can't be done differently ... or even better. And I would implore you not to reject the new or the different out of paw, or blind yourself to avenues of innovation which could elevate your art to an entirely unprecedented level."

"Hmph. Except that we're not talking about art or craft now; we're talking about ... this." He regarded the empty tub once more. "It's too bad we couldn't convince Lord Sodexo to let us have his stock of beeswax; that would have solved this dilemma quite handily."

"Oh, he was most willing to let us have it, remember? At the perfectly reasonable price of two hundred Gawtrybe longbows." Mona bristled at the memory. "We'll just have to find another source, won't we? A great many families and settlements of woodlanders dot the nearer forests, and there must surely be beekeepers and chandlers among them with supplies of wax we can trade for. At Foxguard we've always used torches and vegetable oil lamps for our lighting, so we've never had any dealings for candles, but many households use them from what I hear, so it shouldn't be too hard to connect with somebeast who can supply us with what we need. I'll just have to put the word out, and see what comes of it."

"Put the word out? But Ambassador Tibball only just left us this very day. How will you get word to him?"

Mona smiled. "Oh, I hardly need Tibball to put forth my requests. How do you think I got us our Ambassador in the first place? And while I admit availing ourselves of him might have made the task easier, it's not by any means a lost cause without him. I'll get something worked out, trust me."

"I will take you at your word, ma'am. But I shall have to inspect any wax we obtain from outside sources most carefully, to ensure that it meets my standards for purity and consistency. Second-rate materials will never do for our work here."

"And what work is that?" came a very familiar and commanding voice from behind, causing Mona and Kyslith to turn and see Tolar stepping into the chamber to join them.

"Glassmaking, My Sword," Kyslith replied. "Master Trelayne insisted on using only the best for his efforts, and I can do no less ... for Foxguard, of course."

"Master Trelayne left a great deal of his materials and supplies behind when he left, and allowed you to bring back even more with you when he realized you would not be journeying on to Salamandastron with him. Isn't all of that good enough to suit your needs?" Tolar's gaze went to the haversacks full of rocks from the quarry stacked against one curve of the circular wall. "Still can't imagine what you want with _those_ ... "

"Some supplies need to be renewed or refreshed, My Sword, just as with any other trade or craft. Raw materials, and so forth."

"Ah. Oh, by the way, please don't address me as 'My Sword' - you're not a member of my brigade. Just 'Sword' will do, or even just 'Tolar.' Now, then, I see the two of you seem to be focused on this rather large and unwieldy tub. Discussing ways to have it removed, I presume? It can't be helping matters sitting right at the center of the room like that, taking up so much space. Our weasel laborers can be assigned to bear it up out of the cellar. Just say the word."

"Um, actually, I'd intended to keep it. But it will need some refurbishment before it can be used again."

"Used again? For what? Isn't it just for the vitriol?"

Kyslith nodded. "That substance is a key tool in the glassmaking arts. I would not be without it."

"Why? Are you planning to craft any more giant glass sculptures I don't know about?"

"The vitriol can be employed in the making of pieces of all sizes. And it's not just for shaping, but also etching and fine decorative touches. The artistic side of the craft."

"Foxguard is a military garrison, not a royal court or palace of leisure. We've need of the basics you can provide us - glasses, bowls, window panes, mirrors - not ornate filigree and such unnecessary luxuries. I see no need for anything requiring further use of the vitriol."

"I would still prefer to have a supply ready. Its uses are vast and varied, and I would not be without it."

"So you keep saying." Tolar dismissed the glassmaker with the slightest turn of his head toward the vixen. "Mona, Haddican tells me you've asked him to change the locks on the door down here. Why?"

"It was your idea to install a lock on Trelayne's workshop in the first place. And with Jaffox here from the Northlands, I felt we needed to make these facilities as safe and secure as possible."

"Yes, the lock was my idea - and you know why. And I'll remind you that there were only two keys made for that lock - one for me, and one for Trelayne, which I assume he has bequeathed to Kyslith. That arrangement suits me just fine, and I see no reason to change it. Jaffox does not have a key, nor will he have one, when he eventually returns to Foxguard, which might not be for some time. The current lock will stay as it is."

"What of the interior deadbolt?" Kyslith queried. "That was actually my request, and for the very same reason. I've known of Jaffox since my apprenticeship in the Northlands, although he barely seemed to know I existed, which suited me just fine. But if we're now to be dwelling at Foxguard together, he'll no longer be able to overlook or ignore me ... and quite frankly, Sword, that fox scares me. I might even have reconsidered a permanent assignment here, had I known I'd be sharing this fortress with him. I would prefer the reassurance of a door I can secure from within, to ensure he doesn't intrude unbidden and unwelcome into my workspace here. I can't be interrupted or distracted in the middle of delicate and painstaking labors, especially by such a thoughtless, brutish beast who makes me so nervous."

"Maybe it's a pity Jaffox didn't find his way to us sooner. But the situation is what it is now, for all of us. I don't see why you need a deadbolt. Simply use your key to lock the door from the inside when you're working down here and don't wish to be disturbed. That way, I'll be the only other one who can let myself in, not that I see such a need as particularly likely to arise. But I am the Sword of Foxguard, and I will have no chamber in my own fortress sealed against me - not even this one."

"As ... you say, Sword," Kyslith acquiesced with a subservient half-bow.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend. The Redwallers are still making a fuss over those rafts Jaffox stole from them, and their latest Sparra messenger has dropped some not-so-subtle hints that they might even know of the beast who was behind it, so that fox is causing headaches for all of us. It hardly helped that I didn't even know of the theft myself until the Abbey first complained of it to me, even though Custis must have known about it, and conveniently neglected to mention it to me. At least most of those Gawtrybe are out from underpaw now that they've left for Gawdrey, and I've got my fortress back to myself ... until Jaffox returns at any rate. I'll see you two at dinner. Until then ... " Tolar gave a nod of parting and withdrew from the workshop.

Kyslith looked to Mona. "Well, that's going to make things more ... difficult."

"We'll proceed just as we intended. You've got everything you need, except for the wax. Let me worry about that ... and I'll see if we can't get ourselves that deadbolt after all. It doesn't take a locksmith of Haddican's talents to install such a simple mechanism; I'm sure our weasels can manage it just fine. We'll have things here just as we want them before very much longer, and then you'll be able to get on with your work without fear of any disruptions."

"Yes, but ... he didn't remember correctly about the keys, did he? What if he catches his mistake and comes back to confront us over it?"

"I doubt he will. As he himself admitted just now, Tolar is a busy beast with a great deal on his mind these days. He's hardly to be faulted for forgetting that Haddican made three keys for this chamber's door - one for Tolar, one for Trelayne and one for you. And if he does remember, he'll most likely assume Trelayne kept his own copy, and bears it with him still on his way back to Salamandastron as a memento of his time here." Mona patted at the hidden key chained around her neck, resting against her chest fur under her blouse. "That the truth is different will be our little secret, won't it?"


	21. Chapter XX

**XX.**

 **SOUTHSWARD**

If the searats from the _Bloodreef_ and _Redsky_ gave any thought to setting out in pursuit of their dreaded badger nemesis, they never acted on it. Urthblood and his escort of more than fifty squirrels and mice, with Alexander stubbornly in their midst, trudged a brisk pace ashore and across the open coastal stretches and meadows, quickly leaving those exposed expanses behind them as they struck out into denser forest, where the Gawtrybe wasted not an instant in taking to the trees to provide arboreal cover from their natural element. No seabound enemy would dare pursue or engage them now, unless they wanted to be met with a swift hail of deadly shafts from the hidden treetops above.

Alex, tempted as he was to join his fellow squirrels in the branches for their far-ranging vanguard scouting and rearguard cover, opted instead to stay on the ground at Urthblood's side, plodding along on foot rather than leaping freely from limb to limb as his instincts screamed out for him to be doing. While he might have been more at home up there, he'd find no ready company or conversation, the Gawtrybe wholly occupied with providing security to their landbound cohorts.

While they stuck to the deep woods as much as they could, Urthblood also took care to closely parallel the broadstream which he knew led almost all the way to Floret. A Gawtrybe scout would occasionally drop from the trees to alert them when they were veering too far from the river, while at other times the party could glimpse the flowing watercourse glinting at them through breaks in the woods. Thus did they hold true to their course while never slackening their pace or taking more than the briefest of stops for rest.

"I must warn you again, Alexander of Redwall," Urthblood rumbled as they entered yet another patch of deeper woods, "once we arrive at Floret, I will tolerate no attempts to undermine my negotiations, or poison my treating with the Squirrel King."

"It's most appropriate that you just addressed me by my full title, since you should know by now that we Redwallers speak our minds wherever and whenever we see fit, and are not easily cowed or intimidated. When we reach the royal court, I will make my views abundantly clear - you can rest assured of that."

Abellon merely scowled from Alexander's other side, but it was Urthblood who voiced his mouse captain's thoughts. "We are no longer aboard the _Stronganchor_ , so the maritime hospitality of Captains Wakefern and Whiskersalt no longer extends to you. If it strikes me you are proving more trouble than you are worth, I can still have you restrained, and see to it that you never reach Floret for the duration of our stay."

"Talk like that makes me think I should take to the trees myself, and get there ahead of you. That way I would at least be assured of a fair hearing, without you and your captains there to gainsay me and shout me down at every turn."

"And yet you have not done so, in spite of ample opportunities along our march so far to do just that. Perhaps you realize the futility of such a gesture. You could never outpace my Gawtrybe for long, and they would see to it that you don't reach Floret before us."

As if on cue, one of the Northland squirrels descended to the forest floor a short distance ahead, racing over to them to share the latest scouting report. "Lord, we've spotted a large otter holt on the river, directly ahead."

Urthblood took this news of the first substantial settlement to stand in their path with his usual matter-of-fact calm. "Of course there will be otter holts along so major an aquatic thoroughfare as this. More surprising that we've not encountered any before this, or river ports run by other creatures. It might have been beneficial to have some of the otter crew of the _Stronganchor_ with us now, but they needed to stay behind to safeguard their vessel. But I do not see any cause for concern; mice, squirrels and a badger are not likely to put them ill at ease, even if we are strangers to their territory."

"Well, they know we're coming," the Gawtrybe scout informed Urthblood. "Must've been some lying low along along the riverbanks who spotted you, and swum upstream to alert the rest. Looks like they're mustering their full holt to meet us."

"Did their muster seem at all warlike or hostile?" Abellon asked.

"Maybe a mite ... intimidating. You know how otters are when they get to mobilizing."

"Not lately I don't." Abellon looked to Urthblood. "Do you suppose this could be trouble, Lord?"

"I don't see why it should. Then again, we have no way of knowing what has been going on in these lands prior to our arrival. It could be the searats have made it this far inland after all, and have caused problems for the local residents. We must be ready to demonstrate our honest intent if they greet us with suspicion or outright belligerence."

The squirrel scout smirked. "From the looks of this holt, I'd say any searats who came this way with mischief on their minds probably got more given back to 'em than the other way around!"

"Then let us hope this holt is merely being diligent in receiving unfamiliar travellers, and nothing more. And perhaps they themselves are not as yet aware of how thorough our own scouts are. They may know we're coming, but we know they know, and that grants us some small advantage of forewarning. Let us be moving on, and see what this encounter holds in store for all of us."

The otters did not wait for the Northlanders to reach their holt, appearing instead upon the forest trail, arrayed in imposing numbers across the path and blocking the way, javelins in paw and casually held at the ready. It wasn't quite a war party, but it hardly ranked as the warmest of greetings either. The Gawtrybe kept themselves hidden in the forest canopy as much as they could, not wishing to tip their paw as to their presence or full numbers as they silently monitored the proceedings from above.

"Welcome to Holt Bluesnake," hailed their chieftain, his tone more challenging than welcoming. "We see you are strangers to these lands. What brings you into our territory?"

The badger stepped forward. "I am Lord Urthblood of Salamandastron, and I travel on diplomatic matters to Castle Floret. It has come to my attention that searats are in this region, and I seek to address this issue with the King, if I may."

The head otter considered this statement. "Aye, there's searats about, as you no doubt saw yoreself if you passed the harbor on your way to get this far. Trust they caused you no trouble?"

"I convinced them to remain peaceful. I have some experience in dealing with searats, both on the field of battle and at the bargaining table, and they know better than to unnecessarily provoke me."

"At the bargainin' table, hmm? Then I take it yore the very same badger we've heard about who signed a peace treaty with those throat-slashin' seascum?"

"My war with the Searat King Tratton left him little choice but to negotiate. And I would maintain we reached terms most beneficial to the beasts of the lands."

"The lands, may'aps, but we've heard some complaints from th' beasts of the seas who gotta share this new peace o' yores, an' from what they've been tellin' our harbormaster Cuddy, it's no kind o' square deal."

"They would prefer the old days of being murdered and plundered to surrendering a mere portion of their cargo under the protection of a mutually-shared Accord?"

The otter let slip a grin at this. "Lots o' folks down here've been wond'rin' what kinda beast coulda forced the searats to parley. Now I know, an' I must say you didn't disappoint me. An' might I add, I'd not wanna sit across from you at any table, be it for games of chance or serious treating. I'm Skipper Dawton of Holt Bluesnake, so I guess that makes me yore host for th' moment, least 'til you get to movin' on. So, about these searats yore here on account of, I take it it ain't t' fight 'em, since they're yore allies now an' all that?"

"I am not allies with Tratton. The two of us reached an agreement to stop a war which might have destroyed us both - although I hazard he would have met with destruction before I did - and that is all. Any talk of deeper ties or cooperation between us is wholly without merit."

"Ah. So you would still consider searats enemies, even with the peace?"

"One has no need to make peace with friends. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say we are adversaries, or rivals. We no longer battle through open war, but perhaps there are other ways in which we still contest with one another."

Understanding lit Dawton's eyes. "Like competin' for the favor of th' King of Southsward?"

"That would rank as a prime example. May I ask, if you can tell me, how long ago those searat ships arrived at your shores, and what manner of expedition they dispatched to Floret? I did not think to ask the rats we passed on our way here."

It took a few moments for Dawton to respond to the badger's droll witticism with a hearty bark of laughter. "Naw, don't reckon you did, did you? Harr! Yore a rare one, Lord, who can toss off a joke like that. Think we'll get along jus' fine, you 'n' me will. In answer to yore question, they arrived 'bout halfway through this season, so they have been there a good spell. Boatload that went upriver - under our careful watch, us an' ev'ey holt 'tween here an' Floret - claimed t' be sailin' under a flag o' truce, an' didn't have enuff force of arms with 'em to be aught more'n a nuisance, if even that. Once they made it that far, it was the business of the Royal Court, so we put it outta our minds - much as we could, anyway."

"And how fared their diplomatic expedition?"

"Funny you should ask, Lord. I had occasion t' be at Floret not too long ago, and I saw no sign of any rats there, nor was His Majesty especially forthcoming about discussing them. 'Course, we had other things t' discuss right then, so those vermin weren't uppermost on anybeast's mind. But they were received at Floret, that much I do know, an' they've not come back this way since. If they were still there when last I dragged my rudder across that gilded threshold, they're bein' kept tucked away an' outta sight, so refined beasts don't hafta look at 'em."

"Could the King have had them killed?" Alex asked, addressing Dawton for the first time.

The otter Skipper regarded the Abbey squirrel with an assessing gaze. "Aye, there's a chance. That's the kind o' thing King Fael might do, in one of his more capricious moments. And you are?"

"Alexander of Redwall. And no less an 'adversary' or 'rival' to Lord Urthblood than Tratton himself."

Dawton's eyebrows lifted. "And yet you travel in each other's company, an' by mutual consent, it appears. I'm sure there's a tale to be told in _that_ , so perhaps you'll tarry with us here long enuff for the telling, before moving on again, if it pleases you."

"My only concern is making sure your King does not hear only the searats' side of things," Urthblood told Dawton. "From how you describe it, the situation does not sound particularly pressing, but I would nevertheless prefer to be at Floret at the earliest possible time - just to be safe."

"And _my_ only concern," Alexander interjected, "is to make sure your King does not hear only this badger's side of things, bolstered by his mice and squirrels, with nobeast else to tell you what they've really been up to in Mossflower - and what he might try to pull off here in Southsward too, if you're foolish enough to listen to him as we did at first, before we saw what kind of a beast he really is."

Abellon glared daggers at Alex, but Dawton seemed less perplexed by the Redwaller's provocative statements than either Alex or Urthblood's mice would have expected. "If you think King Fael is easily hoodwinked or led into alliances not to his benefit, you will be in for a surprise when you meet him. But, you mentioned Lord Urthblood's squirrels, so while we're on that subject ... " The otter gestured skyward with his lance. "If we're to allow you free passage to Floret, can't be any secrets 'twixt us, can there? I'll need t' see yore treewallopers - all of 'em."

Urthblood lifted his head to the trees, and to the invisible army lurking there. "Sergeant Witko! Assemble all the Gawtrybe down here, front and center!"

Within moments, all twenty Northland squirrels had raced down from the surrounding trees and formed up alongside Abellon's mouse brigade, in a stance that was half dress review and half defensive posture.

Dawton seemed impressed in spite of himself. "A full score, huh? Never woulda guessed, tho' it makes sense. We knew they were up there, but not in what numbers. Quite stealthy they are - reg'lar treefoxes!"

"Urthblood left his foxes back in Mossflower, so as not to make a bad impression," Alex said, regretting as the words left his lips his invocation of Tolar's swordfoxes as such a verbal bludgeon, in spite of the fact that they'd never been anything but friends to Redwall. Then again, he'd not been home since Latura's abduction; who was to say where things stood now, or whether Redwall and Foxguard were even still at peace?

Urthblood barrelled on over Alexander's attempted vulpine recrimination before Dawton could even pick up on it. "These squirrels are the Gawtrybe of the Northlands, and if their stealth impresses you, be assured that their shooting skills are twice as impressive. They may number only a score, but if the searats tried anything, they would have found their corpses piling up very rapidly."

"They sound like just the kind of fighters any proper Lord needs," said Dawton, staring long and hard at the treebeasts and then adding, almost to himself, "They might just have made it. The mice, tho', wouldn'ta been no hope for 'em ... "

"I beg your pardon?" Urthblood asked.

"Lord, were you at all troubled by any creatures on yore march between th' coastlands an' here? Not so much in the forest, but on the open lands, nearer the sea? Seen anything that struck you as odd or outta place, or just plain strange?"

"Not that I can recall, Skipper. Of what do you speak?"

"Somethin' best not spoken of, not even here in th' safety of these deep woods in broad daylight. But it is somethin' I can show you, tho' it cost the lives of five otters brave 'n' true to bring it to bear, an' the combined efforts of several holts t' hold off its fellow nightmares. You say yore bound for Floret; well, you just got yoreselves an escort, 'cos I wanna be there when the King takes you t' see it."

"Has it anything to do with the searats?"

"I doubt it has anything t' do with any other creature that's ever lived. Except mebbe with killin' 'em."

Abellon looked to Urthblood with open concern. "Lord, have you ... _seen_ anything like this? Have you any idea ... ?"

"No, Captain. I know not what this good otter speaks of, but if it is half the mystery and threat he makes it sound, that alone would have justified my journey to Southsward. Skipper Dawton, I must indulge you to let my squirrels return to the trees. If there is any kind of danger, that is where they can best meet it."

"Course, tho' I doubt it's a worry. All the trouble's been more seaward - mostly where there's sand. They seem t' like the sand. We should be safe this far inland. Leastways, I think we should."

All of Urthblood's fighters were exchanging perplexed glances now, uncertain what to make of the otter's sinister hints and half-revelations.

"Anyways," Dawton went on, "if it's good speed yore lookin' t' make, we got boats enuff to carry you an' all yore mice, if yore squirrels don't mind makin' their own way through the trees 'longside us. Even tho' we'll be headin' upstream 'gainst the currents, with our riverboatin' knowhow we'll still get you to Floret faster'n you'd make it on foot. Offer's open, if'n you wanna avail yoreselves of it."

"I shall have to consider this. With your leave, we will make a brief stop at your holt to discuss the matter further. Then we shall proceed based on how we decide."

"Spoken with the sense of a mole, an' easier to understand, too! Come along then, friends, and let me fully introduce you to Holt Bluesnake!"

As Dawton led the way along the shaded banks, the blunt-tailed otter Bludder sidled up to Alex and whispered, "What you said back there, matey - does this bruiser really have foxes servin' under 'im too?"

"Aye, that he does," Alex affirmed. "But if you want to hear a really good story, ask him why he doesn't have any otters serving him any more."

 **THE WESTERN PLAINS**

It always seemed to be feast or famine for Fitkin the ferry shrew - and, judging from the contingent approaching him along the broadstream's south shore now, today looked like it might land squarely in the first category.

The gulls came first, harbingers of the larger land party trudging along in their wake, and while the wheeling seabirds obviously had no need of Fitkin's river crossing services, their forewarning appearance tipped off the shrew that something out of the ordinary was going on. Like most residents of southern Mossflower, he had heard of Urthblood's use of gulls as both scouts and warriors, and so when such a number of them congregated in the skies so far inland, following a clear surveillance flight pattern, Fitkin could only conclude it had something to do with the Badger Lord.

The makeup of the land beasts who slowly came into view surprised Fitkin once he got a good look at them from the roof of his low tollhouse. Seeing squirrels and rats marching in shared company held no special novelty these days - although the ferry shrew might have viewed that sight very differently had he been fully aware of the campaigns underway in northern Mossflower - since Fitkin had long known Urthblood counted vermin species among his forces. And that these squirrels approaching now were of the Northland Gawtrybe he had no doubt, having gotten a good eyeful of them at the start of this season when Custis had led two hundred of his tribe right past this spot, along with all the freed slaves on their way to Redwall. None of that immense group had availed themselves of his services on that occasion - what a payday that would have been! - electing instead to push on to Lorr Bridge and cross there in the woods rather than here in the Plains. And while Fitkin often cursed that vole-designed span for the passengers it cost him, in that instance he'd been half-relieved to have his services declined, since it would have taken literally days to ferry so many beasts across on his single small barge. This smaller party now would prove much more manageable, if he could persuade them to make their crossing here.

But if these squirrels were undeniably more Gawtrybe, marching under the fluttering banner of the Crimson Badger, Fitkin quickly came to see that the rats accompanying them clearly ranked as no soldiers of Urthblood's. Sporting silks ranging from fine to weathered and worn, the delicacy of the fabrics could not hide the barbarity of the rodents wearing them, and their own tricolor standards of red, black and green marked them as something totally apart from any beasts of the lands.

"Searats!" Fitkin spat with a scowl. "They've brought searats with 'em here to Mossflower!"

The Accord between Badger Lord and Searat King was no secret to the shrew, but it was one thing to receive that news as tidings from the distant shorelands and quite another to see so bold a manifestation of it paraded before his very eyes. Fitkin found himself half-hoping that this party too would opt to forgo his services, since he hardly embraced the prospect of working so closely with these seavermin, no matter what they might offer to pay.

Of one thing he was sure: That he'd sit right where he was atop his abode, unless or until these very mixed travellers gave him reason to come down. When it came to searats, he preferred to keep whatever distance between himself and them as he could.

The troop halted just before his hovel, threescore strong and evenly split between squirrels and searats. The former seemed to be led by a professional-looking female Gawtrybe who now detached herself from the main body and came forward to stand directly below the elevated shrew.

"Greetings, friend. I assume you to be Fitkin?"

"Aye, that I am. An' who're you?"

"Sergeant Poinsett of Lord Urthblood's Gawtrybe forces at Salamandastron, assigned to special escort duty. I was told our route would likely take us past your station here, but unfortunately we will not be engaging you this day."

"P'raps just as well, seein' as who yer friends there are."

"You've no concern on their account. King Tratton wished one of his senior captains to take a walking tour of Mossflower, now that peace holds between Salamandastron and Terramort. Our mission is purely a diplomatic one, so no woodlander has anything to fear from our current contingent."

"Hrmph. You all look pretty heavily armed fer a diplermatic mission, seems t' me."

"Only natural that we should be. Searats are unfamiliar with these inner lands, and their reputation among woodlanders is likely to earn them suspicions of exactly the type you display now, if not outright hostility. They have the right to defend themselves from any unfriendly actions directed at them. And as their escorts, we are bound to stand with them to safeguard their well-being. As you see, they are far too few to represent any real threat to Mossflower, or to stand as any invasion force. As such, we expect to provoke no armed reaction from any locals we meet, even if we do provoke some misgivings and raised eyebrows."

Poinsett gestured toward the rat at the forefront of his own group of the seavermin. "May I present Captain Redclaw of the Imperial Searat Navy? He represents King Tratton's interests directly on this expedition."

Fitkin studied the indicated searat with narrow-eyed scrutiny. This Redclaw certainly lived up to his name if nothing else, his silks all of scarlet and crimson, and all four paws dyed the hue of blood as well, even if road dust from their march had left his footpaws coated and dimmed in their vermilion aspect. Barbed battle rings adorned his tail, and a gold-thread-embroidered eyepatch hid one of those evil orbs, no doubt disguising some horrendous war wound suffered in his campaigns of terror and piracy over the seasons. All in all, a regally barbaric visage of exactly the sort Fitkin might imagine the Searat King would dispatch to further his agenda in Mossflower, whatever that might be.

"Welcome t' Mossflower," Fitkin told the searat. "Hope yer stay's a short one."

"It'll be what it is," Redclaw shot back, giving no sign of being put off by the obstreperous shrew's gruff demeanor. "We'll be goin' least as far as Redwall ... King's orders. Once we've seen what there is t' see, then we'll head back to th' coast."

"Redwall, huh? Wish I could be there t' see their faces when you lot show up at their gates. They know ye're comin'?"

"For now we're travelling ... unannounced," Poinsett responded. "We felt it would be best. Perhaps we'll send word ahead once we're closer."

"P'raps that'd be a good idea, yeah." Fitkin regarded Redclaw and his fellow searats with continued reservation. "Still dunno what ye're hopin' t' prove bringin' yer seascummy paws inta these fair lands, but I think you'll find th' good folk o' Mossflower won't have aught t' do with it, or with you, an' might prefer t' drive you back to th' sea 'fore they'll lissen t' anything you got t' say."

"Drivin' us away ain't gonna be so easy," the searat captain retorted with expected barbaric confidence. "That's why we got our weapons, an' our escorts got weapons too. Now, if y' got anything more you wanna say to us, shrew, why don'tcher come down 'ere an' say it to our faces like a polite an' courteous beast."

Fitkin flashed a fang-filled smile to match that of any searat. "Naw thanks, I'm perfectly cozy up 'ere where I am, an' will be 'til ye're good 'n' far away from 'ere."

"Our presence as escorts is to help avoid any such confrontations as you describe," Poinsett told Fitkin. "Once any Mossflowerians see these rats marching in the presence of Gawtrybe squirrels, and once we make it clear Captain Redclaw is to be treated with respect, we hope to forestall incidents which could prove ... unfortunate."

"Yah, you might wanna work on that then, 'cos yer presence is fillin' _me_ with so much confidence."

Redclaw turned to Poinsett. "Since we ain't gonna be usin' this ingrate's sorry excuse fer a raft, an' since he ain't sayin' anything worth my ears' trouble, c'n we be on our way, Sergeant?"

"Agreed, Captain. Good day to you, Fitkin. We will likely see you again on our return. Hopefully your manners will have improved somewhat by then."

"Don't bet on it, lady. Not if ye're still in this kinda company. Happy trampin' to ye!"

The threescore marchers moved on past the ferry shrew's hut, kicking up enough dust to have Fitkin lightly coughing as he waved a paw before his snout. When they were finally all past, he saw them into the distance with a satisfied smirk. "Goodbye t' bad rubbish!"

When they were safely beyond the ferry station, Poinsett said to the red-adorned rat, "I do believe that may've been your finest performance yet, Your Majesty. I find it ... illuminating how you can play the part of a barbarian so convincingly, knowing you to be anything but."

Talarek, marching close by his sovereign's side in more traditional searat regalia of his own to disguise his identity as the senior representative of the Terramort Guard on this expedition, gnashed his teeth at this veiled insult, but his master shook it off, taking it in stride as part of the deal when it came to cooperating with skeptical woodlanders.

"I was a ship's captain before I became King, Sergeant. And a lowly deckpaw before that, if you care to go back far enough. I am still a searat, and I have always been surrounded by my own kind, even as I rose above our baser ways. This masquerade that Lord Urthblood proposed I undertake has not been especially difficult for me to pull off." Tratton glanced down at his red-dyed paws. "I think this might be going a bit too far ... even if it does remind me of an incident at Terramort from a few seasons ago ... "

"You were the one who suggested the name 'Redclaw' for your alias, Majesty. I'm just glad you had silks aboard to match your new assumed identity so perfectly."

"One of Talarek's formal dress uniforms I'd had him bring along for the occasion, although I'd not anticipated it would be me wearing it instead of him. Good thing we are close in size, although the tunic does hang a bit loosely on me - even with this extra padding I'm wearing underneath to bulk me up."

"In this case it works," Poinsett said. "The bagginess looks more ... pirate-y than your usual ensemble. And your choice of cutlass and tail rings pulls it all together. There's no goodbeast in all these lands, I don't think, who'd doubt for a moment that you're anything more than what you appear to be - or who would not be convinced of such by your performance either."

"As long as that holds true for the rest of the way to Redwall," said Tratton, fidgeting with the eyepatch which hid the fact that his eyes were of mismatched coloration - a physical trait of the Searat King already known to some in these lands, and a feature which might give away his true identity. "Once we arrive there I suspect I may be able to drop this charade."

"I'm not so sure about that, Your Highness. That might prove the one place above all others where you dare not reveal yourself - at least not to anybeast more than a select few. As Captain Matowick already warned you at Salamandastron, the Long Patrol hares living at Redwall might try to take a crack at you if they guessed who you really were, out of their traditional animosity if nothing else, and then there are the former slaves who might still bear you great malice, and the rat refugees seeking shelter there, who might see getting rid of you as a way of scuttling the Accord and disrupting our campaigns against them." Poinsett paused a moment. "Just out of curiosity, what _would_ the status of the land's rats be if something were to befall you, Your Majesty?"

"Now there is a question of considerable temerity. The Accord would endure, since I have a Queen who would step forward to take the throne of Terramort for her own, and should insist that all provisions of the Accord continue to be observed. I suspect those rats would gain nothing by any assassination attempt."

"But do _they_ know that?"

"If my true identity remains secret, the issue should not even surface." Tratton slipped off his eyepatch as they walked, blinked a few times and then put it back on, readjusting it so that it now covered the other eye. "I'm not exactly thrilled by having my vision halved by this disguise, since that impacts my weaponry skills, but if I must wear it, I'll at least switch it up from time to time so as not to strain one eye and let the other grow lazy."


	22. Chapter XXI

**XXI.**

 **THE _REDFOAM_**

Still more than half a day out from Talaga, the _Redfoam_ transcribed a single large, continuous circle upon the waves with pilot's wheel tied in place and sails three-quarters trimmed, manifesting Captain Trangle's worst fears.

The sickness had hit hard and fast, rampaging through the afflicted galleon until not a single rat aboard remained unaffected. None would escape from this seaborne scourge, from commanding officer down to the lowliest and most wretched oarslave. What had started with queasy, feverish weakness quickly advanced to debilitating delirium and crippling aches that sapped the muscles of all strength and left the victims thoroughly incapacitated and bedridden, or slumped over their oar handles in misery far more abject than even what they'd suffered before.

Unlike their masters and tormentors, however, the slaves had their own personal savior. Thus it was that, even as captain and crew lay helpless in the grip of this paralyzing fever, many of the restrained rowers had already begun to regain their strength, their recovery greatly hastened by the moldy bread pressed upon them by Latura, a simple remedy uniformly spurned by the searats who failed to recognize or accept its curative value.

Latura stopped at Palter's side as Carlton and Tallyrand distributed fresh fare to all the other slaves - and this time, with no cruel overseers to interfere, the two rat lads had helped themselves to the very best the _Redfoam_ 's pantry and larders had to offer. Palter and Tadrousse gratefully accepted slightly stale tarts that, while vastly inferior to anything he and Latura had enjoyed at Redwall, nevertheless rated as far superior to what they'd been given during their tortuous time aboard the galleon so far.

Potdar and Spratley twisted around in their seats on the bench ahead of them, less concerned with food and drink than with the other items Latura had brought down at their urging. "Didja get 'em, Lattie? Was y' able t' get 'em?"

"Ayup," the ratmaid affirmed, passing over the claw hammer and prybar she'd snuck down with her. "Wasn't safe t' grab 'em 'fore now, still too many meanrats on their paws, but they're all laid up sick now. Tried t' lock away all their tools along with their arms, but they missed a few, so I was able t' get these ones."

Palter regarded the tools with mild disappointment. "Too bad y' couldn't get some files, but I guess y' hadta settle fer what was left lyin' about."

"Nay," Potdar corrected, "these're just what we asked fer, an' just what we need. Don't wanna try'n file or saw through these heavy chains, that'd take all season. Way t' get outta bonds like this is t' go after th' fastenin's an' brackets an' nails holdin' 'em inta th' wood. Pry 'n' work those free of th' beams an' deck an' bulkhead they're attached to, an' then we'll be free too."

"Pity she couldn'ta just found a key fer these," Spratley lamented.

"Ain't no keys," Potdar shot back as he passed the prybar to his seatmate on the other side, a weaselly but sinewy rat named Barbato. "Ain'tcher noticed, these manacles 'round our wrists clasp but they don't unclasp. No lock, no keyholes, no pins. Once they're on, they stay on 'til ye're dead. Or didja ferget how they hadta get rid o' that one weaklin' who died in th' back row?"

They all shuddered at the memory of the starvation-ravaged land rat who'd been carried out of the rowing galley with both paws hacked off.

"Yeah, an' when they came down t' free Lattie," Palter reminded them, "they hadta bring along their ship's tinkerer, who poked 'n' prodded 'n' fiddled with her latches fer half a morn 'fore they came free. They ain't meant t' come off easy."

"Ain't meant t' come off t'all." Potdar glanced back toward the rear of the galley, mere paces away. "You sure that whipfiend ain't gonna pop outta there an' catch us by surprise? 'Cos it'll be all fer us if he does."

"'ee's out," Latura assured him. "Seems more muscle ya got, worse the aches an' weakness hits ya. He's in 'is private nook back there, an' won't be comin' out t' bother us none."

"An' all th' crew topside?"

"All in their beds 'n' hammuks, 'cept fer a few passed out in th' sun. Think they was posted as lookouts or sail-handlers, but none of 'em can do their jobs. All too sick. Cap'n Cap'n's locked up in 'is room, so even if these chains did 'ave keys, he'd have 'em in with with 'im. Locked up all th' weapons too, so's we can't get at 'em. Checked on that, like y' asked."

Potdar and Spratley had actually asked Latura three times for a check on the arms lockers, and the searat rowers in the fore of the galley had implored this of her even more than that, but in her absent-minded flightiness, it had taken her until now to make good on this request. "Well, they'll not be locked fer long," Potdar swore, setting to work with the hammer. "At least we got these fer now. One thing at a time, an' now's time fer breakin' free o' these oars!"

Several rows ahead, one of the chained searats turned around and yelled back, "Hey, send some o' those tools up 'ere, so we c'n get free too!"

Palter regarded them with his typical worry. "What're we gonna do about them?"

"Let 'em stew in their chains fer awhile," Potdar grunted. "It's enuff that we gave 'em Lattie's moldy bread t' keep 'em from gettin' deathly ill, an' only reason we did that at all was 'cos they made threats t' fink us out to their old buddies if we didn't. Ain't no bosses they can run to now t' tell on us, so they can't hold that over us no more. An' I bet they'd be just as bad if we freed 'em an' let 'em have run o' this ship. I've got a chance t' be free o' these chains, an' I ain't gonna trade one set o' masters fer another who'll just put me down here again. Let 'em rot where they are, I say!"

Latura shook her head. "Gotta set 'em free. Need 'em t' run the ship."

Potdar and Barbato paused in their exertions to join the others in staring at her. "Lattie," Palter said, "d' you really think that'll happen? Take full control o' the ship, just us slaves runnin' it?"

"Don't see why not. T'ain't nobeast t' stop us."

Potdar stubbornly returned to work. "Then we'll free ourselves first, raid the weapons lockers an' arm ourselves to th' teeth, an' make sure we're firmly in charge 'fore we even think about lettin' any of those sea brutes outta their chains."

"Pot's right," his old cohort Vernita agreed from across the aisle. "If there's any chance t'all that those ruffians will turn on us or try'n lord it over us once they're released, we either gotta keep 'em where they are now, or set ourselves up on top first so we can't be pushed around. We land rats've gotta stick t'gether an' look out fer ourselves first an' foremost, 'fore all else."

"They're right," Tadrousse agreed from alongside Palter. "We come first, an' then those rats up front - if they come at all. How d'you see that workin' out, Lattie? Can they be trusted? Will they try'n enslave us again if we let 'em out?"

Again Latura shook her head. "They'll need us. T' help run th' ship. Not enuff of 'em t' do it alone, not enuff of us either. Hafta work t'gether t' make it work. Far as trustin' 'em, yeah, I think we can ... 'cept fer th' dark rats."

"Dark rats?" Potdar strained ahead to see if he could make out any rowers amongst the searats with black or charcoal fur, but couldn't discern any. "Whaddya mean by that?"

"Dark on th' inside. All closed up an' full o' secrets that can't be seen. There's at least one up there, mebbe two. They ain't with us, not any o' us. Gotta be watched. Gotta be watched real close."

"You sayin' they'd turn 'gainst their fellow searats too?" asked Potdar. "Not just us woodland rats, but all us slaves?"

Latura nodded. "Ayup. Secret rats, full o' secret secrets. Serve a secret master."

"Spies of th' captain?" Tadrousse prompted in a whisper.

"Not Cap'n Cap'n. Higher'n that. Lots higher. An' dark, dark."

Potdar chewed on this. "Spies of the Searat King 'imself? Down 'ere, with us? Why would that be? Were they sentenced to slavery too?"

"Dark rats watch ev'rything. Always watchin'."

"Do the other searat rowers know who they are?" asked Tadrousse; all their voices were hushed now.

"Don't think so. All wrapped up in secrets, wrapped up inside themselves. One way outside, another inside."

"An' you know who they are?" Potdar pointedly asked Latura.

"Ayup. One of 'em, at least."

"Then once we're free, ye're gonna point 'em out, an' we'll keep a special close eye on 'em, mebbe keep 'em in chains even if we do release all th' rest ... or else chuck 'em overboard to be rid of 'em altogether. Oh, an' we'll make sure all their fellow rowers know about 'em too, fer good measure."

"Can't tell yet. Need more proof, or they won't berlieve us. Gotta keep it to ourselves fer now."

Potdar scowled. "Who cares what that seascum berlieves or not?"

"No, Lattie's right," Tadrousse argued. "If those searat rowers think we're falsely accusin' some o' their own outta turn, singlin' them out an' targetin' 'em fer stayin' chained up or casting 'em over th' side, it'll make it that much harder fer there t' be any cooperation 'tween us - an' Lattie says there's gotta be cooperation if we're gonna get outta this. If she says t' keep it to ourselves fer now, then that's what we gotta do. Long as we know who th' spies are, we c'n keep that knowledge close to th' vest, an' play that card when it serves us best."

"Aye aye aye," Lattie concurred with vigorous nods. "Serves us best, serves us best."

Potdar glanced at the ratmaid as he continued to work at the chain bracket nails with the claw of his hammer. "Lattie, think y' can get some more tools like these? Mebbe spread 'em around to others down 'ere, help th' job go faster?"

"Yeah, might be able to. I'll hafta look 'round some more."

"You do that - an' while ye're at it, you 'n' Carl 'n Tal bring us down some more o' that good grub our masters've been keeping fer themselves. Make sure those searat rowers up front get a good share of it too; mebbe if we c'n keep 'em docile with quality vittles, they'll not be raisin' such a hue an' cry 'bout not gettin' freed right away."

"Well, ain't you just brimmin' with good ideas," Tadrousse said to Potdar, only half-sarcastically. "Guess we know who'll be takin' charge once we're all freed. Almost makes me think you've done this before ... "

A confident, leering sneer flitted across Potdar's face. "Yeah, I got some 'sperience headin' up a crew, guess you could say. Ain't that right, Sprats? Now off with ye, Lattie, an' get back here fast as y' can with those tools an' grub, y' hear?"

When Latura returned quite some time later, delayed by her own distractible nature, Potdar and Spratley and Barbato were nearly free. With a few final thrusts and heaves, the last of the restraining hardware tore from the woodwork, and the chain came away unencumbered. Spratley looked down at the heavy iron links still connecting the manacles. "Hey, this ain't gonna work! We're still chained t'gether!"

"Yeah, but we ain't bound in place to our bench no more," Potdar growled back. "We can move about now, go wherever we like on th' ship. We'll see about gettin' these chains off entirely once more of us're free, an' we got th' numbers to stand 'gainst any searats who try'n cause us trouble. 'Til then, if we meet any resistance, we'll rush 'em as a team, wrap these chains 'round their necks an' make 'em regret to their dyin' breath they ever slapped us inta them!"

That said, he passed the hammer and prybar across the aisle to the waiting Vernita so she and her seatmates could set to work liberating themselves in a like manner. Peering down at the new tools Latura had fetched as he and his two linked companions clinked and jangled clumsily into the aisle, Potdar nodded his approval. "Ah, y' done good, Lattie. Now run these up to Zarephath so she c'n get started freein' herself too."

"Hey, hold on a stroke there!" Tadrousse protested, automatically invoking some of the rowers' vernacular which had been so mercilessly drummed - and lashed - into them during their time aboard the _Redfoam_. "What about us? Ye're releasin' all yer old cronies first!"

"'Course I am. 'Cos I know I c'n trust 'em. An' we ain't scrawny like you weaklin's who were s'posed to be sent overboard. Only makes sense t' set free those of us who're most fit t' fight first, in case not all o' these seavermin 're as completely laid out as Lattie sez they are. Don't worry, we'll get you all loose in good time, then decide what t' do about our searat rowin' mates."

"Gotta set 'em free too," Latura insisted. "We need 'em. Need each other."

"So ya keep sayin', even though now we know ... " Potdar dropped his voice. "Now we know they got spies 'mongst em. We'll get that sorted out when we get it sorted out. In the meantime ... " His gaze went to the back of the galley, and the curtained-off alcove where Crackmaster kept his private quarters. "There's sumpthin' we gotta take care of right off th' top. Come on, Sprats, an' you, foller me."

Clanking softly in their still-shared-for-the-moment bondage, the trio of freed rats slunk back toward the slavemaster's sanctum and let themselves through the hanging partition. Moments later, the oarslaves seated closest to the rear of the galley heard a shuffling of paws and rustle of chains and scuffling of bodies, accompanied by grunts and chokes. At length the threesome emerged again, looking tousled but grimly satisfied. From Potdar's paw dangled an impressive battle axe. Hoisting the formidable weapon, the male rat said, "Lookee what that brute kept lyin' around as a trinket! This oughta be good fer severin' these chains, once we find a hard surface t' take the blows. Good fer splittin' skulls too, if it comes t' that. Our whiprat sure won't be needin' it no more!"

Palter blanched, and even Tadrousse beside him quailed. "Wh-what happened back there? Didjer ... kill 'im?"

"'Course we killed 'im, y' idjit! You think this's a game we're playin' here? Killed 'im real good, we did - took 'is own whip an' noosed it 'round 'is neck, pulled it tight 'til 'is green face turned blue an' we heard his windpipe crack. Might've been tough when he was up walkin' 'round takin' fun in terrorizin' us all, but he ain't so tough no more! An' now that he's snuffed, that's one enemy at our backs we don't gotta worry 'bout. Could be we'll find ourselves surrounded on all sides 'fore this is over, so the more we c'n take out now, the better."

Further ahead in the galley the searats, hearing Potdar's boasts, sent up mutters and murmurs of both consternation and admiration. One remarked to his seatmate, "They killed Crackmaster! They must be serious 'bout takin' over th' _Redfoam_!"

"They better be, 'cos there ain't no goin' back now."

The dark rat listened in and looked on, but said nothing.

A quick survey of the galley revealed no surface suitable to serve as an anvil upon which to sever the chains with axe blows. Potdar scowled. "Lattie, you've had free run o' this bucket fer days now. Where's a workshop, or th' like? Gotta have one on board, fer fixin' things when they're out at sea, far from any forge shop or smithy."

"Yah, they got a workroom all full o' tools an' stuff, but it's all locked up on account o' th' sickness. Didn't want any o' us stealin' any of it an' doin' any badrat things with 'em. That's why I could only getcher a few."

Potdar gave another malicious sneer. "Badrat things, huh? Well, we've already done some o' those, an' there's more t' come. Lead th' way, Lattie, an' let's see if the lock they put on their workshop door's any match fer my new tool 'ere!"

Leaving the rowing galley behind, Latura led the violence-minded trio along lower decks and companionways deserted and devoid of the usual crew bustle and activity. A stink had started to go up throughout the _Redfoam_ to nearly match the reek of the slave galley - the stench of a vessel in the grip of pestilence, her crew laid low and no longer able to look after even their most basic needs. Although perhaps a pawful still might be out and about, not yet having succumbed to the worst ravages of the rampant sickness, and for those possible stragglers Potdar kept alert and watchful.

At length they stood in a passage between two doors. Latura pointed at one, then the other. "Tools in that 'un, hurt locker in that 'un."

"Hurt locker, huh? That'd be the armory then ... an' we'll be doin' our share o' hurtin' once we get inta there! But first, th' workshop, t' get us all free!"

Potdar tried both doors and, not surprisingly, found them locked. Hefting his newfound axe, he smashed at the door to the shop and, with just a few blows, broke through and left the shattered door hanging inward.

The two searats assigned to guard the shop from the inside took the foraging slaves by surprise, charing the intruders with their last reserves of fever-stricken energy. Potdar was quick enough to dodge out of the way of the first, leaving Spratley open to take a cutlass thrust to his side, and to block the second searat's seeking rapier with his axe, which he then brought around to slay his attacker where he stood. Barbato held back, careful to keep the slumping Spratley between himself and the armed searat like a shield, until Potdar could turn about and dispatch the second guard as well. The recovering slaves may have been weak from their brush with this illness, but the fully-infected searats were weaker still, and this allowed Potdar to triumph over a foe he otherwise could never have defeated.

"Pah!" Potdar spat as he stood over the two gruesomely-slain rats, with Spratley, now crumpled all the way to the deck himself, weighing him down at the wrist. "Just like these treacherous seascum t' leave a trap like that fer us, tryin' t' take us out 'fore we can rally t' get what we need. Bet there's more hidin' in the armory, lyin' in wait t' slice our gizzards if we try'n break in. Hang in there, Sprats, we'll getcher free an' then get yer side patched up in th' sick bay. Now you two, help me along with these here ... "

Surely enough, the workshop did feature a heavy anvil, along with implements even more suitable for breaking chains than Crackmaster's axe, and Potdar quickly stood with the chain linking him to Spratley stretched taut over the anvil's surface. Latura and Barbato stood on either side of the wounded rat, supporting and holding him up so Potdar could perform his task more easily. Working with just one fully free paw proved a challenge but, bringing to bear a heavy bludgeon he'd found which was half axe and half hammer, he soon had the chain severed, and stepped back to admire his work, the trailing end of the sundered iron links dangling from the manacle down his forearm.

"We c'n get that filed off when th' ship's fully ours, an' we got time t' breathe a bit. No time fer it now. Okay, get Sprat's paw up, so's I c'n get th' two o' you separated too."

In no time at all, Barbato stood liberated from Spratley, who now lay on the deck moaning as he clutched at his bloodied side. Potdar crouched down alongside his longtime companion. "Don'tcher worry, Sprats, we'll not let anything happen to ya. Been through too much t'gether over th' seasons fer me t' abandon you now. So, Lattie, which way to th' sickbay?"

She scratched idly at one ear. "Um, this way, I think."

"Well, which way is that? Ye're just standin' there!"

"Oh, yeah, right. Um, foller me ... but sickbay's already full o' rats already."

"Oh? Well, they're about t' get another, even if we gotta turn one of 'em outta his bed!" Potdar stopped himself even as he was speaking. "No, wait - Lattie, how big's that sickbay?"

"Um, six beds, I think. Or four. Or mebbe eight. Never really counted."

"That ain't gonna work. If even one o' those searat patients is well 'nuff t' roust 'imself outta bed an' leave the sickbay, he could spread word throughout th' ship to any other crew who're still able t' put up a fight, like these two were, an' then we'd be all bolloxed. Gotta work in secrecy long as we can, just t' be safe. 'Course, I could just slit all their throats, that'd keep 'em runnin' fer help!"

Latura shot him an admonishing look. "Badratty!"

"Aye, Lattie, I'm a real bad ratty, an' I s'pect ye'll see lots worse from me 'fore this is all over. So, if we can't take Spratters to the 'firmary, is there some place else we c'n lay 'im up? Mebbe some private cabin where he'll be all alone?"

"Only private rooms're Cap'n Cap'n's an' his matey mate's. An' they're both locked."

Spratley's eyes rolled in his head as he lay on his good side, staring imploringly up at the others. "I'm dyin' down 'ere!"

Potdar scowled. "Aw, cut th' dramatics, you ain't dyin'! Just a flesh wound, I'll wager, right through yer fat rolls! A few bandages an' ye'll be good as new, trust me."

Barbato studied the fallen rat, not so quick to share Potdar's optimism, then his face brightened as an idea occurred to him. "Hey, all we need's a bed where he can lay out, right? So why not use one whose owner's already dead, an' that's outta th' way too, since we already control the space where it is?"

Potdar took his meaning at once. "Ah, Crackrat's hole, y' mean? Yah, that'd do. Sprat c'n lay out there while 'ee recovers ... an' we can send Lattie up to th' sickbay t' fetch any bandages an' medicines we need, since she's already been movin' 'bout the ship on her own, an' she'll not attract th' kinda attention any of us would. Right, that's what we'll do then. Lattie, you run 'n' see to that now while we get Sprats back down below. We'll meetcher there."

"Sure! Um ... what?"

"Bandages an' medicines! From th' sickbay! Fer Spratley 'ere. You go get 'em, an' bring 'em back down to the rowin' galley. Can y' do that, or are y' too daft?"

"I ain't daft, just diff'rent. Da allers said so. An' that ain't a nice thing t' say, Pottymouth."

Potdar took a deep breath to steady his waning patience. "Can y' do it, Lattie? We need you t' do it, since you know where the sickbay is, an' we'll be too busy with Spratley t' do anything else."

"M'kay. What kinda medicines?"

"How should I know? I ain't a healer! Jus' grab whatever looks like it'd help us out. How hard can that be?"

By the time Latura returned to the rowing deck, arms laden with healing supplies and no questions asked by the delirious searats laid up in the sickbay, Spratley lay in Crackmaster's bed, the murdered whiprat spilled unceremoniously to the floor where he sprawled ignored through sheer derision. Zaraphath's row had freed itself from their bench as well, adding another trio of oarslaves now able to roam the _Redfoam_ at will. They passed their tools to yet another row and followed Latura up to the now-opened and secured workshop, where they broke their links binding them and brought even more tools down to the rowing galley to speed up the process. Before sunset painted the calm seas around their circling galleon pink and crimson and sent long shadows of hull, mast and sail over the water to the east, all the land rats were free from their benches, and from each other.

"Right then," Potdar said to the assembled woodlanders, as Zarephath crouched in the rear alcove treating Spratley with the best of her limited healer's skills, "now we're all unchained, it's time t' hit the armory, an' get what we need t' hold this ship!"

A still-bound searat scoffed at such grandiose talk. "Pah! Ye ain't got th' guts nor the gumption - ner the fightin' skills - t' hold this whole ship 'gainst the whole crew, if they start wakin' up an' recoverin'. Ye're gonna need us fer that, whether y' wanna admit it or no."

"Oh, y' think so? We've already seen to it three of that scummy crew's never gonna see another sunrise, an' with the armory in our paws, we might just even out these odds a bit more 'fore this night's over. Lattie sez we gotta let you out eventually, but we gotta see to a few more things 'fore we do, so you jus' sit tight fer now, an' we'll get t' you when we get t' you."

Knowing from his previous excursion with Latura just where the armory was, Potdar led most of his new army back up to it, Crackmaster's axe in paw. Soon they all stood clustered before it, some in the companionway and some spilling into the workshop opposite, with its inviting open door and not so inviting pair of slain searats. Potdar glared at the locked armory door. "Right, betcher anything there's more guards waitin' in there, jus' waitin' fer us t' open this up an' come rushin' out t' cut us down. Well, we surely got 'em outnumbered, so won't they be in fer a surprise. Stan' back, gimme room t' swing - an' be ready t' lay 'em low the moment they appear!"

Exactly how Potdar expected his followers to achieve this if they were to meet any substantial resistance remained unclear, since they were armed only with the two blades of the workshop guards confiscated from the corpses and various manner of tools, even if some of the latter were undeniably nasty in their own right. Not even Crackmaster's whip, now coiled at Potdar's waist as a trophy, seemed likely to be brought into play, the resistance leader keeping it as close as the mighty battle axe, which he now hefted to smash his way into the armament locker.

Ducking back upon breaking through, he quickly saw he and his fellows had nothing to worry about. Here too internal guards had been posted just as in the workshop, but these had not fared so well in withstanding the sickness, and lay on the floor amidst the neat racks of blades, spears, bows and other weaponry, along with barrels full of arrows and bolts. Too weak and feverish to resist or even protest, they died silently as the swords found their hearts.

"Don't slit their throats," Potdar had advised as his gang closed in for the kill, "an' leave the blades in wherever ya stick 'em - we'll be in an' out o' this place a lot, an' we don't want th' floor all slick with their blood. Don't worry 'bout runnin' outta blades; we got plenty now!"

In truth, they now had many more weapons than paws to wield them, and that would remain true even if the searat rowers were eventually brought into their ranks as well. The warships of the Royal Fleet all carried surplus of arms to feed any protracted battle or larger action where weapons were likely to be lost and replenished, and the _Redfoam_ was no exception. In short order, even with the multiple swords, rapiers and cutlasses left stuck in the guard's bodies, the marauding mob were fortified with at least one proper weapon apiece, along with the tools they'd originally thought to wield for such purposes. Now, that rising tide of vengeance-seeking rathood sought out the upward passages they'd previously not dared to tread, emboldened by their newfound strength of death-dealing implements.

Tarnise, the bereft ratmum, lingered behind after the others had stormed off with Potdar, and there in her solitude with the dead she carefully, silently, methodically perused the selection of knives and daggers. She needed only one, and when she found the one that best suited her, she took it in her paw and made her own belated way out into the corridor.

There she found two more stragglers awaiting her. Latura and Palter regarded her with surprise, the male rat at least having assumed everyrat else had followed Potdar up to the top deck. For his own part, Palter hadn't been sure where to go or what to do with himself in all this slowly-unfolding melee; as one of the last slaves freed, he'd been forced to sit idly by and watch as most of this day's transformative events unreeled around him. Now liberated, he certainly had no wish to remain down in the putrid rowing galley which had defined the parameters of his existence during his time aboard the _Redfoam_ , and where even now sat ranks of still-chained and perhaps hostile searats, along with the cooling corpse of Crackmaster not yet removed from his quarters due to other more pressing priorities on the part of his murderers. And so he'd fallen in with the others, drifting along on the periphery of their angry exodus up here and having himself cut from from Tadrousse while the main mass of rebels raided the armory and meted out their mayhem there.

Tadrousse was long gone now, joining in the creeping fray to spread their retribution to other parts of the ship and seize total control of the _Redfoam_ if they could. Only their present threesome, it appeared, had refrained from melding themselves to the madness, at least for the moment.

"Whadd're ya doin' here, Lattie?" Tarnise asked with timid suspicion, pawing absently at the dagger in her grasp.

"Stayin' outta it fer now, keepin' Paltryrat from bein' alone. Gettin' scary, real scary. But badrat's gonna be needin' me agin soon, wants me t' show 'im to Cap'n Cap'n's cabin. Can't stay 'ere much longer."

"Not sure I'd wanna," Palter said with a gulp, staring past Tarnise at the doorway to the armory and the unseen carnage he knew lay within; it was bad enough he'd had to share the presence of the two dead guards in the workshop while being separated from Tadrousse, and he could only imagine what lay beyond that second threshold. His gaze went to Tarnise and the small blade she clutched. "What're you doin' with that? Why ain't you with the others either?"

"Hadta arm myself," she explained matter-of-factly. "Ev'ryrat else was, an' I ain't fit fer wieldin' anything heavy or needin' fighter's skills. Figgered this'd do me well."

"Uh, yeah, I guess ... "

"Ain't you gonna take anything fer yer own?"

Palter shot another glance toward the weapons depot. "Naw, never been much of a fightin' beast. Prob'ly trip an' slay myself on anything I took from there. Best thing I c'n do now I figger is lay low an' keep outta ev'ryrat else's way, an' let 'em do ... what needs t' be done." He turned to Latura. "Lattie, you just called Potdar a badrat. Is he really? Should we trust 'im? Can we be on 'is side?"

"No other side t' be on. Called 'im badrat 'cos 'ee's doin' badrat things. Lotsa us are. No good or bad 'bout it. Just th' way it's gonna be fer now."

A somber silence fell over their threesome for a few moments, broken at last by Tarnise. "Lattie, can I ask a favor o' you?"

The prophetic ratmaid instantly brightened at this prospect of making herself useful, and for somebeast other than the pushy, commanding Potdar. "Aw, nice o' you t' ask so nicely. Sure, whaddya want me t' do?"

"The first mate's cabin. You know where it is, right?"

"Aye. Matey mate's all laid out sick, prob'ly worse'n Cap'n Cap'n, least last I saw."

"Take me there."

Palter, noticing a certain glint in Tarnise's eyes he'd not fully appreciated before, laid a paw on Latura's arm. "Lattie, I ain't so - "

"Sure! Badbossyrat's gonna want me up there soon anyways t' point out Cap'n Cap'n's room, so may as well show you th' way on our way."

They met no other rats, living or dead, on their trek through the companionways leading where Tarnise wished to be taken. As they ascended toward the top deck and the open evening air, sounds of the voices of the rebels reached their ears; now so well-armed, Potdar's gang made little effort to proceed under stealth, it seemed. Just below the last short stairway leading up to the main deck, Latura halted before a closed door. Tapping it with one claw, she said to Tarnise, "Matey mate's in here. But door's locked. Want me t' go get somerat t' bash it open for you?"

Tarnise shook her head, holding the dagger. "No. I know how to pick a lock."

"Okay. Have fun! Come on, Paltryrat, let's go see what bossyrat needs me t' do fer him now!"

Getting down on her knees, Tarnise went to work with the dagger, poking and probing at the latch until the lock gave way. Fortunately for her, the older galleons of Tratton's fleet often lacked the more recent and elaborate fixtures of the dreadnoughts and the newer vessels, and even on the _Redfoam_ herself the first mate's cabin rated less secure lockage than the already-breached workshop and armory. Thus did Tarnise gain prompt entry to the chamber she sought.

Laverty lay abed in a grand delirium, cracking his puffy eyes open to mere slits and raising his head a fraction from his vomit-stained pillow upon hearing the door opening. "Who ... whozzat? Cap'n, 'zat you?" he weakly croaked.

"No, I ain'tcher captain," Tarnise said coldly as she came to stand over the defenseless first mate. "Cap'n's just as sick as all th' rest o' ya, more or less. I'm just a lowly oarslave, not worth yer spittle. 'Member me? 'Member my babe? Well, I 'member you!"

She raised the dagger and brought it down.

Then raised it again for another thrust. And another.

By the time she was finished, her arm was very, very tired.

Latura and Palter arrived on the top deck just in time to see the freed oarslaves dumping Dittmar, Lartaud and Mithermay overboard; the three crewmates had never even made it back to their bunks belowdeck, falling to the sickness right where they were while still on duty, as had any number of their fellow searats. As drained and incoherent as the trio was, the slaves didn't even bother bringing to bear their newly-gained arms, opting instead to simply hoist each rat up while still in the grip of their delirium and cast him over the side railing with no more than a grunt of surprised protest followed by a splash in the darkening waters to mark the end of their seasons.

"There y' go, that does it, rats!" Potdar egged on his cohorts. "Give 'em what they was gonna give us, there's poetic justice! Now, there's some more over there, layin' about just waitin' fer their dunking! Let's go get 'em!" Turning to Latura upon spotting the newly-arrived ratmaid, he tarried as the others raced past him in their rush to dispense further justice. "Ah, Lattie, there y' are! Good. Once we get th' rest o' this deck cleared up, I'll be needin' you to point me to the Captain's cabin, an' then we'll settle this score once an' fer all!"

"Oh, that's no problem, Bossy!" Latura thumbed toward the door below the wheeldeck; as captain, Trangle kept the fanciest accommodations aboard for himself, occupying the only cabin with entries leading out to both the topdeck and the inner passages. "He's in there. But 'is doors 're locked. Both of 'em are."

"Not fer long they ain't." Potdar, his stolen battle axe laid aside for the moment in favor of the cutlasses of Lartaud and Mithermay that he now brandished in each paw, admired his newest purloined weaponry. "Good thing we thought t' conferscate those ruffians' swords 'n' daggers 'fore we dumped 'em overboard. Not that we really need 'em now, but still, woulda been a waste, wouldn't it?"

Palter winced as two more searats went over the port rail. "Ain't that kinda ... cruel?"

Potdar's choke of laughter was the harshest Palter had ever heard. "Cruel?! Cruel, 'ee says! Seem t' remember t'was 'xactly what they sought t' do to you. An' Lattie too. Woulda thought you'd be cheerin' loudest of any of us by seein' 'em meet such a fate. At least I wasn't so scrawny I got put on the condemned chain line like you two was. Still, can't deny I'm takin' plenny o' satisfaction in seein' this seascum get dropped in their own drink! So, Lattie, once we get th' captain outta th' way, we'll be able t' turn our attention to those searats down in th' rowin' galley. Way this's comin' off without a hitch so far, I'm startin' t' think we'll not need 'em after all. You still say we gotta let 'em free?"

She nodded. "Need 'em t' run the ship. Can't do it without em."

"An' what of the spies 'mongst 'em? Can we take 'em out now?"

"Not yet. Not time yet."

"Can't wait too much longer, an' I'd rather have it done before we release even one of that untrustworthy bunch. Spies 're devious 'n' conniving, an' schemin'. Longer we leave 'em mixed in with th' rest, more opportunity they'll have t' work against us, poisoning' the others an' convincin' 'em not to cooperate. I can see that turnin' all kinds o' bad. Why you think we gotta wait? What're we gonna gain?"

"Not gonna be 'em turnin' 'em 'gainst us. Gonna be us turnin' 'em 'gainst 'em, then th' rest'll be on our side."

Potdar's eyes focused and unfocused. "I ... almost follered what you said just then. Okay, so we leave 'em fer now. What's next?"

"Say hello to Cap'n Cap'n. He'll know what t' do."

Potdar gave an evil grin, fangs glistening in the ocean twilight. "He'll not be knowin' much fer very longer!"

With the last of the open and exposed searats cast overboard, the former oarslaves clustered in a large anticipatory knot around the topdeck doorway to Trangle's cabin, ready for the crowning blow of the fledging coup. Potdar once more called forth the heavy battle axe of the murdered slavemaster and set to work with it. The captain's quarters boasted no more secure a door than the armory or workshop, and the wood around the latch soon splintered and gave way under the blows, the door swinging inward easily after that. Potdar stepped aside, his work done, to let the others precede him. Barbato was the first across the threshold ... and thus it was Barbato who took the crossbow bolt squarely in the chest, dying instantly.

Trangle wouldn't have had time to load a second bolt, even had he the strength. Barbato's avengers swept into the cabin as swiftly as the narrow portal would allow, and in a shorter space of time than any onlooker could have believed, Trangle's lifeless body was borne out on deck and unceremoniously committed to the sea by a dozen pairs of eager paws.

Latura and Potdar stood in the rank cabin alongside Trangle's rumpled, now-empty bed, surveying the departed captain's belongings. "Hope he didn't have anything of worth in the pockets of 'is bedclothes," the male rat lamented, "like keys or maps or manifests or aught that might've helped us. Those bloodthirsty nitwits got rid of 'im so fast, we never had time t' check."

Latura regarded the tricorn hat and dress jacket displayed upon the coat rack in the room's corner; Trangle had been wearing neither during his final, futile stand. "Good thing we still got those. Might be needin' 'em." Moving on, she found herself drawn to one particular locked cabinet tucked away under a desk in the crowded cabin. Tracing her pawtips across the face of the wood safe as if in a trance, she soon attracted Potdar's notice.

"Whatcher got there, Lattie? Somethin' good, is it?"

Latura stood. "We c'n let 'em free now. I know what t' do 'bout th' darkrats."


	23. Chapter XXII

**XXII.**

 **THE _REDFOAM_**

"Okay, lissen up, if you lot wanna see the outside o' this stinking' galley an' be free o' yer chains. Only way ye're gonna do that's through me, so pay attention real close!"

Potdar stood in the rowing galley aisle between the two ranks of seated and restrained searats, axe in paw and backed up by a good dozen of his most able-bodied fellow freed slaves. Latura had secretly pointed out to him the one she called "darkrat," and while Potdar now kept that one well in his sights, he avoided singling him out with his gaze, instead making sure to keep his eyes constantly moving to assess the captive rowers as a single body.

"The captain's dead. We killed 'im an' threw 'im overboard. First mate's dead too, carved inta chum fer the fishes, as I hear you searats're fond o' sayin'. We provided th' same courtesy fer any others we found layin' about on deck, an' all the sentries guardin' the armory an' workshop are slain too. We run this ship now, an' I'm in charge. If you want outta those chains, you'll be takin' yer orders from me. Anyrat 'mongst you got a problem with that, or do you wanna stay in fetters 'til we land back on the coast an' be left there t' waste away?"

"Ye're aimin' t' return to th' mainland?" asked a burly, scarred rat from the row ahead of Latura's "darkrat."

"Aye, that's the idea."

"Then it's a cracked idea. The mainland's Urthblood's domain, from th' Northlands all th' way down into Mossflower. You go back there, he'll just round you all up again, an' send you right back to us - if 'ee don't just slay you outright. Purty sure he ain't fond o' second offenders."

"Then we'll land someplace he don't control."

"Ain't no such place, or if there is, won't be fer long. Accord calls fer him handin' over all th' land's rats to us, an' doin' anything less would violate that treaty. He'll keep comin' after you, an' comin', until he's got you back in chains, or dead."

"Then … mebbe another land. Or an island somewhere. Someplace 'ee can't get to us."

"Only place he can't go is th' sea lanes an' isles King Tratton controls - an' if you think Urthblood's bad news, you got no idea. Only way ye'll get anyplace other'n where we are right now's by plyin' his waters - Tratton's waters. You have any inklin' what he an' his forces would do to us if they even suspect this ship's been taken over by slaves? If we're lucky, he'll just sink us, send us all to th' bottom of the sea quick 'n' merciful. More likely, tho', he'll wanna salvage th' _Redfoam_ , so he'll send boardin' parties to retake 'er - an' those boardin' parties will make th' way you treated Cap'n Trangle an' 'is crew look downright hospitable by comparison."

Potdar stood chewing on nothing; this was not going the way he'd hoped. "Then what'd you suggest?"

"We're a rogue ship now - a marked, movin' target, an' we'll only be able t' keep what we done here secret fer so long. All those rats you threw overboard? Better hope th' fishes take care of 'em fast, 'cos otherwise that's incriminatin' evidence just floatin' 'round fer the next passin' ship to come across. But as fer where t' head ourselves, won't be anywhere unless you let us outta here. Ye're land rats, woodlanders, an' I'm bettin' there ain't a rat amongst ye who knows th' first thing 'bout deployin' an' trimming sails to the wind the right way, or proper steerage, or navigatin' by th' stars. Yer own ratmaid said so 'erself, that y' need us. So stop playin' games an' let us free."

"Okay," Potdar said after a long pause of consideration. "Awright. We do need you, an' I'll not deny it. But I'm still in command, an' we'll not stand fer any attempts by any o' you to stick us back down 'ere, or make us yer pris'ners or servants, or anything like that, y' got it?"

"We'll not try'n stick y' back down here," the searat promised. "Galleon like this c'n sail jus' fine without rowin' crews. Kinda redundant, unless you need extra speed fer some special reason - tho' other ships o' Tratton's chasin' us down might be just one such reason. But we oughta be aright with sails alone, otherwise. An' far as takin' orders from you, well, mebbe we'll just haft wait an' see who's actshully better at runnin' this ship, won't we?"

"Run it all y' want, but I'll not be takin' orders from _you_ , you can be sure o' that." Potdar motioned to his own rats. "All right, give hammers an' prybars t' this row, an' this one too. Let 'em get started … an' keep a close eye on 'em once they're loose, make sure they stay in line."

"Hey!" the searat protested. "You got enuff tools now t' give us all what we need! Why jus' two rows?"

"You think I'm gonna let alla you get unchained at once? Mebbe you ain't as smart as I was beginnin' t' think you were."

As the searats groused and grumbled at this stinginess with the liberating tools and blatant display of mistrust, Potdar stalked up out of the galley where Latura awaited at the top of the short set of steps. "Y' sure this's th' best way t' go about this, Lattie?"

"Best way? Dunno. But gotta trick th' darkrats, make 'em show 'emselves."

"Okay. We'll see how this shakes out, then."

Potdar's two female companions, Vernita and Zarephath stood at the forefront of the woodland rats overseeing the searats working themselves free, maintaining careful vigilance without lending a paw to assist them. Addressing the one to whom Potdar had been speaking, Vernita asked, "So, are you the leader of all th' searats here?"

"Mebbe, mebbe not. Is that blowhard o' yers _your_ leader?"

"Looks like 'ee is. Ain't done too badly by 'im, how things've gone so far. What's yer name?"

The searat paused in his labors with his prybar to look her way. "Cordato."

"Well, Cordato, once alla you 're outta there, we'll be lookin' to you to keep yer gang on th' straight an' true, jus' like we're all lookin' t' Potts for our leadership. We can't be turnin' on each other. Can't have a bloodbath 'tween us when we need t' be workin' t'gether."

"Workin' t'gether's one thing, havin' that preenin' windbag lordin' it over us is another. You want our cooperation, mebbe we'll be of a mind to cooperate. An' as fer a bloodbath, that may be 'xactly what we all end up with if we don't move fast. You been to th' main billet yet?"

"What's that?"

"That's where over a hunnerd searat fighters'er prob'ly laid up sick right now - an' if they start recov'rin' 'fore you an' us both've got firm command of th' _Redfoam_ , we'll be hard-pressed t' make this mutiny stick, or keep all our blood inside our bodies."

"But they're all helpless with th' sick … "

"How do you know that, if y' ain't been down t' see 'em yet? How do you know they ain't been watchin' you, waitin' t' marshall enuff o' their strength t' counterattack? You need us outta our chains faster'n you seem t' know. Once we're all free, you leave th' rest to us. We'll take care o' ev'ry searat still alive belowdecks. You don't think we want a little vengeance of our own?"

"How do we know you won't try'n join up with 'em against us?"

"If they're all laid out with th' sick like you seem t' think, then it wouldn't do us much good t' try, would it? But you've naught t' worry 'bout - we hate our masters much as you do. Mebbe more, since we were once on their level, an' they delighted in tormentin' their former mates. We'll not leave a single one of 'em alive, if we can help it. Well, mebbe th' cook, but that's it."

Vernita studied the exertions of the laboring searats, weighing whether or not to believe Cordato. "Until you c'n get free, what else should we be doin'?"

"Now there's a sensible question! Mebbe you should be in charge o' yer lot, an' not yer pretend martinet. Wanna know what t' do? Find th' bosun. Y' claim to've already killed th' Captain an' first mate, an' if that's true, then the bosun's the only one left who might stand a chance o' rallying the rest o' the crew against you, whatever shape they're in. Take out the bosun too, an' the Redfoam's as good as ours!"

"Bosun. Got it. Mebbe Lattie'll know which one that is, an' where t' find 'im. Lemme got tell Potdar."

"You go do that," Cordato almost teased with a wicked grin. "Think of it as a little gift, from me t' you, to prove we'll be able t' work together after all!" And with that he bent his back into his labors once more as Vernita raced off to convey his suggestion.

00000000000

The top deck of the _Redfoam_ lay deserted under the dark of night - perhaps suspiciously so. But if the two stealthy, creeping figures picking their way silently toward the captain's cabin gave any thought or concern to any oddness to the situation, they suppressed such qualms, spurred by the need of unfolding events and the demands of their secret training, and bolstered by their confidence in their own abilities.

They found the door locked, but this deterred them not in the slightest. Tarnise was far from the only rat aboard who knew how to pick locks, and this shadowy duo would hardly settle for resorting to any tool so primitive and inappropriate as the bereft ratmum's dagger, relying instead on finer implements unobtrusively lifted from the workshop when norat was looking. They now defeated the obstacle before them with swift alacrity, not hampered in the least by the lack of light by which to see; either of them could literally have performed the task with their eyes closed.

The door thus breached, they crept within, closing the door behind them again. Only now, sealed off within Trangle's cabin from the rest of the ship, did they dare to make any light to aid them in their search - a single lit candle, placed in a tiny folding frame of glass and mirrors like a miniature, clandestine lantern, able to direct its beam along the desired line of sight. With the dark night finally lit for them, if only to this small extent, they commenced their rapid search for what they sought.

Their exacting quest yielded prompt results. They quickly located the small floor locker where they knew they would find the object of their attentions, since every captain's cabin in the Fleet had one, and this time they did not have to resort to picks to bypass the stubborn tumblers, finding the hidden key attached to the underside of Trangle's desk right where protocol demanded it be kept. Opening the safe, they removed the device within, closed and locked the storage box again, and stuck the key back in its former hiding place under the desk. With a puff of fetid breath the light-bearer extinguished their candle and replaced the tiny lamp in his pocket, and the duo opened the cabin door to exit out into the night air once more, their theft accomplished and hopefully not to be noticed until it was too late.

No sooner had they left the cabin door behind them than unseen assailants jumped them from all sides, seizing them fast in ungentle grasps too quickly for them to react or resist. Light flared all around them, chasing away the night as cloaked and shielded lanterns were uncovered to illuminate the scene. Rough paws wrested their prize from the clutches of the one bearing it, leaving the two thieves pinned and bereft.

Potdar stepped up to the restrained pair, a gloating smirk on his face, while Cordato and several of his fellow searat slaves stood at the woodland rat's side, accusing stares fixed on their two comrades. "Hold 'em tight there!" Potdar exhorted. "If they're what Lattie sez they are, these two're dangerous, an' not to be trusted fer an instant!"

Cordato regarded the two detainees. "Bratvold … Larnaitis … what were you doin' in there? Answer me true, or this night'll be yer last!"

"Theyre spies, just like Lattie said," Potdar castigated, "so don't even bother askin' them - they'll not answer. Trap worked, jus' like Lattie told us it would. They hadta get to this too badly not t' take the risk." Potdar regarded the object in his paws, clearly a weapon of some kind but not like any he'd ever seen before. It had a handle and trigger like a crossbow, but that firing mechanism was attached to a wide, blunt metal tube. He held it out to Latura. "What's this, Lattie? What's it do?"

"Shoots fire inta th' sky. High high up, so other ships see it. Lets darkrats let other rats know what happened here."

"She's right," Cordato confirmed. "It's a flare. Dependin' on which color cartridge is shot off from it, it'll tell other ships of the Fleet whether we're in distress … or whether we've fallen to a slave revolt, or hostile forces. An' there'd not be any reason fer Bratvold an' Larnaitis to be sneakin' these fer themselves unless they intended t' use 'em fer just that."

Latura stood back, nodding vigorously. "Ayup, yup yup yup. Darkrats, darkrats."

Potdar narrowed his gaze at the two captives. "Then what're we waitin' fer? Let's slit their throats, heave 'em over th' side an' be rid o' 'em already!"

"Not so fast," Cordato warned. "These two've been chained up with us as seatmates, seasons fer some o' us, an' they never let on ner gave away they could be workin' fer Spymaster Uroza. If we're gonna do this, I gotta be sure. Wanna question 'em first, get some answers. Hear it from their own lips."

"From their own lips?" Potdar scoffed. "If they're spies, which they are, 'cos Lattie sez they are, an' we caught 'em red-pawed doin' exactly what she said they'd do, they ain't gonna tell you squat. Jus' look at 'em now, standin' there, holdin' their tongues, glowerin' at us like we're all inferior creatures in their eyes … "

"Then I'll ask, an' if they choose not t' answer, then it's on 'em. But I'll not slay 'em outta turn without givin' 'em one last chance t' come clean. Tho' a li'l proof would be nice too."

Potdar held up the flare. "We got this straight from their own claws. What more proof do y' need?"

Latura pointed toward Bratvold and Larnaitis. "Check their hems, bottom o' their tunics. Want proof, ye'll find it. Down in their - oof!"

Even as she'd spoken this further incriminating pointer against the two accused spyrats, Larnaitis twisted free of his captor's grip, exhibiting a fighter's prowess heretofore unsuspected by any of his longtime associates, pulling a dirk from his belt and letting it fly at Latura before any rat there could stop him. As a former occupant of the rowing galley, he'd heard everything there was to hear of how Latura had largely made this rebellion possible, and such a threat to the Empire was not to be allowed.

Latura sensed the blade launching from the would-be assassin's paw moments before it actually did, and twisted casually, as if it were no more than dodging a twig one of the Abbey youngsters had tossed her way in a game during her time at Redwall. The deadly weapon sailed harmlessly past her and everyrat else, clattering on the deck paces beyond where they all gathered.

Bratvold, meanwhile, had likewise slipped free of the paws restraining him and produced a hidden blade of his own and with a single, impossibly swift slashing motion laid open the throat of the rat nearest him before turning about on a second victim and driving the knife into the hapless rat's neck. And that made Bratvold, as the spyrat still armed and bringing down opponents, a target himself.

Potdar barely had to think about what he was doing as he raised the flare and pulled the trigger. From a distance mere paces away, he couldn't help but hit his mark.

The sparking ball of incandescence shot from the muzzle and across the deck almost faster than the eye could follow, burying itself in Bratvold's belly. And there it did what flares will do when they come up against something that stops their flight, unleashing its signalling energies in a single grand release, uncaring whether it happened to be lodged within living flesh at the time.

Bratvold fell wide-eyed to the deck with a final grunted groan of surprised pain as those around him backed away in shocked revulsion, his innards either incinerated or cooked from within as the gaping, charred hole in his abdomen still glowed and smoked like a rapidly dying campfire.

Even Larnaitis, seasoned spyrat that he was, stood aghast and caught off guard by this development … and that was all his adversaries needed to leap upon him in force. With his only blade spent on his futile attempt to end Latura's life, he went down quickly. And, having shown how deadly his abilities were, he did not rise again, stabbed and pierced by multiple swords.

Potdar stared down at the flare pistol in his paw, astounded at the incendiary violence the device could unleash. Astounded … and very much enticed as well.

Cordato shook his head to clear it of the gruesome afterimages, then went over to Latura. "What was that you was about t' say, 'bout proof? Got an inklin' I know what you were gettin' at, but tell me now, in full."

"It's in their tunics. Secret proof. Been keepin' it secret, all this time."

"Then let's see 'bout it, huh?" Drawing a blade of his own, Cordato went to Bratvold's smoldering corpse and knelt over it.

Potdar scowled in disdain. "If 'ee had anything hid in his tunic, it's gone now. All burned up, along with 'is insides."

"Not if I hit my guess, it won't be. 'Sides, Lattie said t'was in the hem, an' that's below where … where y' hit 'im." Working his paws along the uncharred lower edge of Bratvold's shirt, feeling the fabric all the way around, Cordato's eyes at last widened with discovery. Rending the fabric with his knife, he withdrew the tiny medallion sewn into the hem and held it up for all to see.

Potdar wasn't impressed. "So, what's that then? A trinket for barter or trade?"

"No trinket. This's life an' death, an' the worst kind o' death too, if the one holding this decides against you. Heard talk of such things over th' seasons, but never actshully laid eyes on one, or even thought t' be holdin' one in my own paw. 'Tis said every spyrat of Uroza's carries one o' these secretly hid on 'em at all times - some even go so far as t' have it sewn under their flesh an' fur so there's no chance of 'em losin' it, ever. All they need t' do is show it to any cap'n or rankin' officer anywhere in Tratton's realm, an' that officer'll know t' do whatever that rat tells 'em to, under pain of earnin' the displeasure of Spymaster Uroza, or Tratton 'imself. It's their secret indenterfication, in case they ever hafta break cover an' show who they really are."

"I don't get it," Potdar said. "Was they slaves, or spies? If they were such important an' valuable agents, why would they be slapped in chains fer as long as they were? Was they former spies, bein' punished fer crimes like th' rest o' ya?"

Cordato shook his head. "If they'd been kicked outta Uroza's service, they'd like as not've been executed outta paw, t' protect any secrets they coulda shared. Word is, you don't leave Uroza's agency alive once ye're in it. An' these two certainly wouldn'ta still had their telltale medallions hid on 'em if they were only pris'ners an' oarslaves. They were active … an' we're mighty lucky we found out about 'em this early, 'fore they had any chance t' cause us real trouble."

"I still don't unnerstand," Potdar pressed. "Havin' spies on 'is ships, I can see Tratton wantin' that - but t' keep an eye on their cap'ns an' crews, t' keep 'em in line an' make sure they stay loyal. But why stick 'em down in that swillhole with a bunch o' chained slaves? Ain't that a waste?"

"Tratton's never liked ner trusted slaves, an' keeps 'em off all his most important isles an' vessels. Slave uprisin's - like this one we're right in th' middle of - are sumpthin' he's always been mindful 'bout guardin' 'gainst, an' wouldn't surprise me if most rowin' galleys in th' Fleet've got at least one spy infiltrated 'mongst 'em. But that ain't t' say there ain't more aboard th' _Redfoam_ , hid among th' crew. Lattie's not had a chance to inspect 'em all, so who knows what we'd find if she did? Fer all we know, th' first mate or bosun you already killed coulda been spies themselves; t'ain't just th' lower ranks an' deckpaws Uroza infiltrates." Cordato looked to the downed form of Larnaitis. "An' I'm bettin' I'll find the exact same thing on him too."

"Oh, you will," Latura guaranteed. "Both darkrats, both of 'em."

Sure enough, another cursory probe of the second fallen spy's garments turned up a craftily-concealed medallion to match the first. Cordato clutched it in his paw, then turned a steely gaze Latura's way. "Yer turn now, liddle one."

The woodland rats surrounding the prophetic ratmaid drew back, aghast. "What're you talkin' 'bout? Lattie's th' one who tipped us off to 'em in the first place!"

"Right. Which means mebbe she's th' seer she claims t' be … or mebbe she's a spyrat 'erself, deflectin' attention an' suspicion away from her this way."

"Ye're daft! Didn'tja just see one of 'em try'n kill 'er?"

"Exactly what you might expect 'em t' do if they felt they'd been betrayed, or wanted t' try 'n' keep up a pretense. I notice th' blade missed 'er … an' Uroza's assassins don't miss."

"But she's th' one who pointed 'em out to us. We'd never even've known about 'em t'all if t'weren't fer her."

"She coulda had her own reasons fer doin' it. Makes no less sense than her bein' able t' 'see' things."

"Oh? What about th' mold, an' the sickness she knew was comin'?"

"Did she? Or did she not know about it until after it was already upon us? Don't seem t' recall her offerin' us moldy bread 'til after th' crew started fallin' ill … an' could be simple healerbeast knowledge that she knew 'bout th' mold healin' us."

"Then how d'you explain nobeast being able t' cause her harm? Like she's protected by fate or sumpthin'. Cap'n was impressed enuff with her that 'ee set 'er free an' gave her special privilege. He knew 'er gift was real."

"Did 'ee? Or did 'ee just know sumpthin' about 'er the rest of us didn't? Sumpthin' she's tryin' t' keep from the rest of us now? An' mebbe she's come t' no harm 'cos norat was really tryin' t' harm her. Could all be part of a ruse."

"You'd not say that if you'd been topside t' see it when she almost went over th' side, an' a broken chain was all that saved 'er. Or when that bowrat was gonna put a bolt in her heart, an' it went inta his one good eye instead. Or d'ya think she an' the Cap'n arranged all that too?"

"Coulda been. I dunno. But that's why I gotta make sure now."

Potdar threw up his paws in exasperation. "She ain't even a searat! She came on board with th' rest of us! She's from th' lands, like we are! She's from Redwall, fer fur's sake!"

Cordato leaned in close to his verbal adversary. "You think Uroza doesn't have spies on land? You think he mebbe doesn't have 'em even at Redwall?"

"I ain't lettin' you do anything t' Lattie. An' if ye're thinkin' otherwise … " Potdar raised the flare pistol, aimed it squarely at Cordato's belly, and squeezed the trigger.

When Cordato heard the empty click and realized what the other rat had meant to do, he hauled back and slugged Potdar in the face as hard as he could, sending the woodland rat sprawling to the deck, senseless. Before Potdar could recover, or any of his supporters could rally to his aid, Cordato snatched up the flare gun.

"Idjit! It only holds one cartridge at a time! I oughta have you gutted an' thrown to th' fishes fer that!"

"Can't do that," Latura said into the charged silence. "All need each other now. All gotta work t'gether."

Cordato eyed her, then stuck the pistol into his belt. "Yah, mebbe we do. But I'm keepin' this - an' I'm in charge o' this ship now. Me an' my mates ain't takin' orders from th' likes o' that one! We're th' ones who know how t' run a ship, not any o' you landlubbers. So run it is exactly what we'll do … and woe to any o' ye who get in our way. Unnerstand?"

All of Cordato's searats stood armed to match the other freed slaves, and for long, tense moments the two sides stood squared off in mutual defiance. But with their own leader knocked into a groggy, concussed stupor, the fight quickly went out of the land rats, and they lowered their weapons and stood back to see what would happen next.

Cordato stepped up to Latura. "You ready t' be inspected, wench?"

"Ain't no wench - I'm Latura o' Redwall! So search me all y' want - got nothin' t' hide."

"We'll just see then … " Cordato set about giving Latura's garments the same thorough inspection he'd given to those of Bratvold and Larnaitis, making sure to check not just the hem but every part of the fabric for any trace of a hidden medallion. Finding nothing of an incriminating nature, another thought crossed his mind. "Hey, these ain't th' clothes you came aboard with, are they?"

"Anope. Cap'n Cap'n gave me these, so I'd be a proper searat!"

"Ye'll not be a proper searat anytime in this lifetime. So, where're yer old clothes?"

"Burned, thrown overboard - I dunno. Said 'ee didn't want 'em around, pollutin' up his ship. Can't say I blame 'im - they did pong sumpthin' awful."

"Hrm. Lemme see yer arms."

Latura held them out, and Cordato checked closely for any traces of scars which might hint at a surgically-implanted medallion. Finding none, he then checked the ratmaid's legs as well, and still turned up nothing.

"Well, I guess ye're clean, then. So, can y' really see what's t' come?"

"See what I see. Don't work like most beasts seem t' think. Ain't like I'm a storybook, full o' pages o' what comes next."

"An' whaddya see becoming of us now? This ship, alla us?"

"Just said, ain't a storybook."

"Naw. You just made this revolt happen, easy as y' please."

"T'weren't me. T'were th' bad melons, an' all the other bad from th' bad isle, an' Cap'n Cap'n not takin' th' moldy bread I offered 'im. All th' rest came from that."

Potdar was back on his paws now, thinking at first to challenge Cordato to reclaim both the flare pistol and the leadership of the _Redfoam_ , but upon seeing how the searat's own heavily-armed followers closed ranks around their erstwhile leader, the land rat backed down. "So, 're y' gonna take Lattie down t' the main billet t' see if she can uncover any more spies? You seemed t' think there might be more hid 'mongst th' crew."

"There may well be - but we'll not need this one's help fer that now," Cordato said, looking Latura's way. "You squeamish sisters abide up her fer a bit while we go take proper care o' that situation … an' try not t' go breakin' my ship while we're gone."

00000000000

In the end, the sharks solved the dilemma of any telltale evidence the _Redfoam_ 's new masters cared not to leave behind.

And the sharks fed well that morning, turning the waters around the captured searat ship far redder than the rosy dawn hues alone could have managed. Every member of the original crew - even the cook, in a reversal on Cordato's part - had been dispatched in a slow-motion massacre meticulously executed from stem to stern and top to bottom, with no hold, cabin, companionway or common area overlooked, the searat oarslaves displaying a methodical thoroughness and lack of mercy which left even the most bloodthirsty of the land rats stunned by their cold brutality. Over a hundred more bodies went into the sea in those predawn hours, following those of Trangle and Laverty and Gabbert and all the rest, and with such a bounty of fresh meat and beacon of blood, the sharks could not help but gather. Now the _Redfoam_ truly lived up to her name, the waters around her hull roiling an evil scarlet with the fury of the feeding frenzy. So many of the giant predatory fish might normally have posed a threat to even so large a vessel as the galleon, but now, with their attention fastened on this easy meal delivered their way by providence, they did not trouble the _Redfoam_. Indeed, as some of the sharks turned upon each other in their mindless thrashing and biting, the ocean grew even redder, their cold blood mixing with that of the rats. The _Redfoam_ , her sails fully deployed for the first time since Trangle had ordered them trimmed to meet the sickness, now bore the galleon clear out of the maritime carnage and northward into untroubled waters. With Cordato's crew now at the helm and minding the sails and riggings, the _Redfoam_ became once more a true seagoing warship, now in the paws of a very different manner of warrior.

"That's that, then." Cordato stood alongside his appointed steersrat Gramaton on the wheeldeck, gazing straight ahead at the featureless ocean horizon as the wind rippled his fur and whiskers as it hadn't in seeming ages. "Pity we were too busy with other things last night to take any proper bearin's by the stars; hafta wait 'til t'night fer that, an' hope no clouds roll in. Wonder where we are 'xactly, an' where we were headed. Might've been worth keepin' one o' th' crew alive jus' fer that. Ah well - too late fer that now."

"Mebbe ask th' ratmaid?" Gramaton suggested. "She had free run o' th' ship days 'fore the sickness hit, an' she had the captain's ear too, 'tis said. Could be she knows all that."

Cordato shook his head dubiously. "That one don't know 'er own name half th' time. Already asked her, an' she still seems t' think she's on some kinda adventure. You saw 'er when we were chuckin' the bodies overboard back there, sittin' on the ship's railin' with 'er paws over the side, callin' out the count o' corpses like t'was all a game. Can't tell what's gonna reach 'er an' what's not."

"Lattie knows what she knows," said Potdar from the other side of the ship's wheel; the self-appointed leader of the land rats had made a point of sticking close to his new searat counterparts as much as he could, and for his own part, Cordato almost welcomed this, since it let him know where his most dangerous potential rival aboard was at any given moment, and what he was doing. "Pity you slew ev'ryrat who mighta been able t' tell us what she can't. Not th' wise move you'd expect of a worthy leader, is it?"

Cordato glanced askance at Potdar. "Seems t' me you 'n' yers did a pretty good job yerselves of killin' ev'rything that moved, an' quite a bit that wasn't. Leastways I know ye're good fer that much, even if y' do have a fair number o' softies 'mongst you as well. Ye'll not find any softies amongst my rats, you c'n bet on that. Now, if I thought I could trust you fer an eyeblink not t' stick a dagger 'tween my ribs when I wasn't lookin', might almost be tempted t' name you my first mate, seal th' breach 'tween yer gang an' ours. As 'tis, you leave th' runnin' of this ship to those of us who know th' ropes, an' look to yer own rats. Just keep 'em outta our way, an' we should get along jus' fine."

Potdar grunted, then turned aside as he saw Zarephath climbing up to the main deck to join them. Leaving Cordato's side to go over to his longtime journeymate, he asked in an atypically subdued fashion, "How's Spratley doin', Zar?"

"He's gonna be okay … I think. Can't really tell. Treated him th' best I know how, but a wound like that's touch an' go. No way o' knowin' whether a stab wound through the side like that hit anything vital or not. Bleedin' stopped, an' no sign o' fever returnin', so I'll take all that as good."

"I'll leave it to you then. You allers know more 'bout healin' lore than th' rest of our band, an' seems ye're the closest thing to an expert we got on this whole ship. If Spratts don't get better under yer care, he'll not get better under anyrat's."

Up near the bowsprit, Latura sat with legs dangling off over the side, relishing the rise and fall of the prow through the waves and the spumes of spray thrown up by the _Redfoam_ 's progress. Palter stood back, fidgeting nervously over the thought of all the dark deeds held by the night just past, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

"Lattie, what happens now? I heard that searat who's taken over say earlier that we're a marked ship now, that there's no way we c'n keep secret what we did, an' that when the Searat King finds out we'll be hunted to the ends of th' world. That there's nowhere fer us to go now, an' that we ain't none o' us gettin' outta this alive. We only got a liddle time t' enjoy our freedom 'fore it'll all be over, an' we'll end our days in struggle 'n' slaughter. Tell me that can't be all that's left t' us, Lattie. Not after all this … not after all we been through."

She glanced over her shoulder at her fellow villager. "Why's ev'rybeast keep askin' me that? Gotta keep sayin', ain't a storybook. Can't fully see all that's comin' up. I'll know when I knows."

"But, if it's all futile, an' all's gonna end in blood, why'd you make such a big fuss 'bout lettin' out those searat rowers so they could run th' ship fer us, an' why'd you keep stressin' t'was so important we all work t'gether? That made it sound like there was hope … like we was headed somewhere else 'sides our graves. We all thought you had some kinda plan to t' get us outta this."

"Plan? What plan?"

Palter gave a sad sigh. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid o'. What plan … "

Toward midday, a shout rang out from the crow's nest. "Land ho! Land ahead! Island ahead!"

Cordato walked across the deck to directly under the lookout. "Can y' tell which isle it is, Trovs?"

The lookout Trovato took his time replying. "Whatever 'tis, it's big. Stretches almost clear 'cross th' horizon, one end to the other. Think it's Talaga!"

"Talaga?" Cordato tested this possibility on his tongue. "Aye, that might make sense. Th' clime's right fer it, an' if we been sailin' due north ever since that melon isle where we caught th' sick, that puts us right about where we are. But why would Trangle've been takin' us there? No slaves allowed on that officers' isle, an' frigates an' galleon's with oarslaves ain't usually allowed t' drop anchor in their harbor, 'cept under special orders or circumstances. Hmm … " He stalked forward to seek out Latura, who by this time had given up her spot at the bow in favor of perching upon the catapult arm while nibbling on some dried and mostly mold-free fruit from the larders. "Lattie, where was th' cap'n takin' us? What'd he mean t' do there?"

Latura shrugged. "Dunno. Ever since King Ratty an' 'is darkrats passed us, we been headin' one way then another. Hadta get someplace, fer sumpthin'. Not sure what. But we ain't gettin' there now."

"Nay, we ain't. Altho … " Cordato stroked his whiskers in contemplation. Potdar, by this time drawn to the scene by the shouts and commotion, hovered at the searat's shoulder. "Talaga's an agriculch'ral isle … lotsa crops, lotsa produce … might be a good place t' restock fer th' rest of our voyage, however long or short that's gonna be. We could tie up in their harbor, never let on we're slaves who've taken over th' _Redfoam_ … " After a long silence, Cordato shook his head. "Naw, too risky. We'd never pull it off."

"Why not?" Potdar demanded. "Ye're all searats yerselves. Alla us could stay belowdecks outta sight 'til we leave, let you lot do all th' talkin' an' dealin' … "

"Wouldn't work. Talaga's a retreat fer officers' families as well as a farmin' isle. How do you know that cap'n or first mate we chucked overboard don't have a wife waitin' fer them there? How do we know there wasn't another spy mixed in with th' crew, who was s'posed to check in with a superior on arrival? The _Redfoam_ was headed fer Talaga fer _some_ reason - an' since we don't know what it was, we can't go there. It's a masquerade we'd never pull off."

Potdar glanced at the siege weapon upon whose lashed-down arm Latura lounged. "Well, what about an attack? Ain't like we're helpless or defenseless here."

Cordato emitted a choke of scornful laughter. "Lemme tell you 'bout Talaga, friend. Since it's a reserve an' sanctuary fer officers' families, whom they hold as precious, it's very well guarded an' fortified. Gov'ner Martinoy's got his own house guard an' harbor watch, who make sure naught goes on down at th' waterfront that Tratton doesn't want goin' on. An' that's not even gettin' inta Fort Ballaster. Aye, that's right - they got a whole fortress overlookin' ev'rything. Ain't sure who's commandin' that garrison nowadays, but you c'n be sure they'd not take kindly to anything of th' sort ye're suggestin'. Plus, we don't even know what other ships might be tied up there. Dependin' on that, any ruse of ours could be discovered before any of us sets claw off this ship, an' as fer startin' a battle, that'd be a quick way t' end our freedom an' our lives."

Potdar shrugged in bad grace. "If you say so. These're yer seas, not ours."

Cordato aimed his gaze forward once more. "'Kay. So, we can't go there, so we gotta go 'round it. Problem is, currents 'n' winds 're tricky 'round here, approachin' from th' south. Breakin' off or turnin' about might be more'n we can manage without a full an' seasoned crew. Trangle knew what 'ee was doin', comin' up from this way. Vessels practically guide themselves to Talaga, assumin' that's where y' wanna go. But if it ain't … "

"You sayin' we're bound there whether we wanna be or not?" asked Potdar.

"Nay. The winds an' currents we'd hafta fight now might prove our ally once we're a liddle bit closer. There's enuff of us here with nautical knowhow to use what nature gives us to our advantage, you just wait an' see!"

Potdar crossed his arms. "Yeah, guess waitin' an' seein's all I can do, ain't it?"

All the rest of that afternoon, the _Redfoam_ bore northward making for the isle where they dared not land. Fortune held in that they crossed wakes with no other ship of the Fleet, either coming or going. Their fortunes grew when Cordato, true to his hopes, was able to find a countercurrent to bear them west, away from the populated section of Talaga and along the southern shores of the island and thence up along the desolate windward end of the land mass, where no searat's eyes were likely to spot them. High above, cormorants wheeled and kept close watch, but since a pact now held with the searats - and since the _Redfoam_ never threatened to veer landward or encroach upon their breeding grounds - Tratton's new warriorbirds held to the skies, allowing this solitary craft to transit these waters unmolested.

And then the _Redfoam_ was plying her way eastward again, at an oblique northernly angle that would have them halfway to the horizon by the time they drew abreast of Fort Ballaster, safely beyond the reach - hopefully - of any island authority who might question their fleeting presence or think to send out a craft to investigate.

"Long as no fleetrunner comes chasin' after us, we oughta be okay," Cordato remarked as the north shores of Talaga slowly receded along the starboard view. "Though I reckern we got enuff strength o' numbers that we could handle one small boat o' spyrats, 'specially if we take 'em by surprise."

Latura stood nearby, likewise watching the island grown smaller with distance. They were now past the barren western portion of the island, and past the mountain range dividing Talaga into two separate and dramatically different habitats. Now viewing the lush verdance which had taken over from the desolate rockscapes, a wistful look came to Latura's eyes. "D'aw, looks so pretty now. Wish we coulda stopped there fer a spell. Bet its beaches 're nice."

"Aye," Cordato affirmed, "best beaches in the Empire - but ye'll not wanna go testing 'em with yer paws if y' wanna keep yer head."

Latura absently shook off this morbid admonishment. "Oh well, Mebbe someday."


	24. Chapter XXIII

**XXIII.**

 **NORTHERN MOSSFLOWER**

Bolstered by the fox and weasel fighters from Krayne's valley, and backed up by his hundred Gawtrybe, Jaffox cut across northern Mossflower like a scythe.

Already one rat settlement and four solitary family groupings had fallen to the ruthlessly calculated strategy, two of the latter discovered by the squirrel scouts from the trees, having been hidden from the avian reconnaissance by the forest cover. A few of the targeted rodents resisted, and paid for that resistance with their lives, but the vast majority were too overwhelmed and caught by surprise by the tactical juggernaut sweeping over them to do anything but surrender to the inevitable. And with each tiny conquest in the phased and forward-pushing operation, the number of bound captives rose, often tied up with rope from their own abodes to ensure that the Northlanders might preserve their own supply. The expanding cadre of prisoners grew only slightly inconvenient and unwieldy, since only a relative pawful of squirrels and ground troops were needed to effectively watch over them; after seeing Urthblood's forces and their newest allies in action, none of the Mossflower rats were of a mind to have a second go at them or cause trouble.

A number of woodlander homesteads and communities also were encountered during this relentless drive through the forestlands from the eastern shores, and in each case the Gawtrybe ran interference for the vermin soldiers, offering assurances that no harm would befall them as long as they stayed to their homes and did not meddle in the larger campaign. And if the squirrel archers never shared that their placating, diplomatic forays also served to allow them to closely examine each residential grouping to make sure no rats perchance dwelt hidden in among the woodlanders, nobeast was ever the wiser to this extra level of heightened scrutiny.

On the morning of their third day of raiding, they at last encountered a settlement of the sort to give them the most trouble. Nestled in a depressed glade too shallow to be called a proper valley, backed by a short but sheer cliff face, here dwelt scores of vermin in almost a miniature counterpart to Krayne's former horde, a mixed assemblage of foxes, weasel-types … and rats. The challenge now would be to extricate and detain the latter without raising the ire or opposition of the rest. Not that Jaffox really cared one way or the other; from the looks of things here, these were not fighters fit to challenge his own in any meaningful way, and he doubted not for a moment his own forces' ability to prevail here. Still, it was always wise to take the measure of any potential adversary before charging in with swords drawn.

Crouched in a gap between trees to study the settlement below, and not really caring at this point whether they were seen, Jaffox consulted with Bryn and Sergeant Collijack on the logistics of the situation before them.

"We got 'em outnumbered, that's clear 'nuff. Reckon you squirrels could take 'em all out easy jus' by yerselves, without 'em ever knowin' what hit 'em. But let's see if we can't do this more reasonable an' peaceful first, eh? Hard t' tell from 'ere whether this lot fancies themselves any kind o' real horde or not, but guess we'll find out soon 'nuff, won't we?"

"Won't a show o' force be enuff t' keep 'em causin' trouble?" Bryn wondered. "We show our full numbers, they'll be too intimerdated t' lift blade 'gainst us."

"We show 'em our full numbers right up front, we also tip our full paw, an' I allers try'n avoid that when I can. An' it ain't blades I'm worried 'bout." Jaffox pointed to cave openings in the cliff face, some showing clear signs of habitation. "If they got archers worth a toss, an' they caught wind of our approach, could be those bowbeasts're positioned fer an ambush from up in those recesses right this moment. By goin' down inta the heart of 'em to treat an' lay down our terms, we'll be cedin' the high ground an' placin' ourselves at a tactical disadvantage."

"Y' really think they'd try sumpthin' like that?"

Jaffox shot the ferret an acid glare. "Back when yer Krayne was in charge o' things in yer valley, how'd you think _he_ woulda reacted to a bunch o' outsiders marchin' in an' demandin' he surrender all 'is rats?"

"Yah. See yer point. So why don't we just attack them, like we did in that rat settlement yesterday? That turned out fair 'nuff."

"'Cos mindless slaughter ain't what we're here fer. Sure, I'll unleash slaughter in a heartbeat if I'm forced to it, but Lord Urthblood's standin' orders in situations like this are t' bring 'em in … just like I brought _you_ in. Or wouldja rather I'd just attacked you too?"

"Um … "

Collijack pointed to the clifftop. "Before you go down, I can position some of my squirrels up there with ropes. If they do try to ambush you from the cliff caverns, we can rappel down and be in their midst before they knew what hit them. Leave that to us."

"I will." Turning to Bryn and the other vermin officers of his former valley horde, Jaffox said, "You know what it's like from their end; now you get t' see it from our side, marchin' inta a nest of unpredictable forest scum an' layin' down th' law to 'em. Wonder if this lot'll roll over an' make it as easy on us as you did? Let's go find out!"

A short time later, with Collijack's Gawtrybe in secret place atop the cliff and ropes at the ready along with bows and shafts, Jaffox marched right into the midst of the mixed-species settlement, in the company of all his foxes and half of Bryn's fighters, the remainder held in hidden reserve to be called down only if needed. Even with this partial force, Jaffox still wagered he had sufficient show of force to stay any hostile paw among the locals that might seek to draw blood first and ask questions later.

Their reception was much the same as Jaffox himself had met with during his own approach of Bryn days earlier, if slightly less militaristic. The vermin here did not seem to be any sort of proper horde, but that didn't mean they weren't still heavily armed, with much of that weaponry on display now at the unbidden arrival of this rival force. Jaffox's assessing eye roamed over and among the potential enemies turning out in their indignant if apprehensive show of force, taking stock of both their strength and type. These might be brigands of an overblown robber band, or even a loose affiliation of plundering gangs pooling their resources for common cause; Jaffox didn't care either way, seeing before him now only an impediment to be overcome in the short term, and perhaps a body of recruits to be brought in afterwards, depending on how things went here.

If family beasts dwelt here, they were showing the good sense to remain safely out of sight for now.

To the Northland fox's mild displeasure, it was a rat of all creatures who stepped forward to face him down - a strapping male nearly as big as most foxes, although this still left him having to look up to meet Jaffox's gaze. The rodent hefted a formidable spiked club with an ease to suggest he knew well how to use it, and presented a hardbitten and weathered countenance conveying that he was used to being obeyed, and not easily cowed.

 _We'll see about that_ , Jaffox thought to himself.

"Who are you, an' whaddya want?" the rat challenged.

"Jaffox, commander in the United Forces of Lord Urthblood in Mossflower," Jaffox responded, making up on the spot a title he deemed suitable to impress. He was only too well aware that Bryn and Bogdan at his sides showed a measure less arrogant confidence than he did, and wished they would stop it. "Who's in charge here?"

"That'd be me," the rat replied tersely.

"Well, that makes things rather awkward. Who else is in charge here?"

"If y' come t' parley or bargain, y' talk t' me. An' if y' come fer somethin' else, ye'll not find us pushovers, so choose yer next words careful, fox."

"You know, it's really impolite t' address somebeast by species after they've done you th' courtesy of introducin' himself. But, since you insist … " Jaffox withdrew from his barbaric finery a scroll which he unrolled. Reading from it in the most stentorian voice he could muster, he declared, "By official decree of Lord Urthblood of Salamandastron, in observance of the Accord agreed to and signed between him and His Majesty King Tratton of the Searat Empire, all rats from all the lands are to be resettled from their present locations and delivered into the realm of the searats, to be joined in unity under the banner of a single rat kingdom and to relieve the burden upon the other species of forest and field. All rats are required to comply with these resettlement efforts, and any resistance will be met with commensurate force, up to and including deadly force. No rats are to remain anywhere within the lands, and any who do will be considered fugitives, subject to capture and deportation wherever they may be found, without exception. Thus will this be the law of the lands, from now and henceforth." Jaffox rolled up the scroll and replaced it within the folds of his overlapping garments. "See, I can read. Can you?"

The rat stood appalled and stunned by what the brutish ruffian had just had the gall to recite to him. "Is this … a joke?"

"Look at our numbers. Look at our arms. Do we look like we're jokin'?"

"Y' must be, 'cos what you just read off's the daftest thing anybeast's ever wasted breath t' utter. Who's this Urthblood anyway, an' what makes 'im think he c'n do any such thing?"

"Who's Urthblood? Only the most powerful Badger Lord who's ever lived - tamer an' uniter of the untamable Northlands, victor in battle against th' greatest Searat King of all time, defender of the Western Shores an' all beyond. He's the overseer of these lands now, an' his word's law. An' if you think _I'm_ bad news, you oughta meet him. So, I'll ask again … " Jaffox raised his voice to address all the creatures before him. "Who else is in charge 'ere? Somebeast who ain't a rat … "

The chieftain raised his spiked club and pointed it at Jaffox. "I don't care if ye're bigger'n I am, or how many o' yer bullies you brought with you. If you wanna keep yer skull free o' extra holes, y'd best turn yer scraggly tail around an' take this rabble with you!"

Jaffox stared down the club without flinching. "An' ye'd best mind where ye're stickin' that thing, if y' don't wanna end up seriously hurt." Again he called out past the rat chief. "It's also longstandin' policy o' Lord Urthblood's to offer service to any fox, weasel, ferret or stoat who wishes to join his cause. You'll be fed well, armed well, an' earn the privilege of goin' abroad in th' lands under his banner, meanin' no woodlander'll ever be able to gainsay you or treat you like a second-rate creature. You'll be part of a real army, servin' a real Lord who's reshapin' the lands even as I speak, an' know dignity an' respect ye'll not ever get hunkerin' down here hidin' an' thievin'. Any o' you who care t' join up with us'll be welcome."

"Hey!" the rat snapped, waving his crude mace even closer to Jaffox's chin. "You don't talk to them! You talk to _me_!"

Jaffox's regard for the creature confronting him turned positively, dismissively acid. "Didn'tja just hear me? You don't matter anymore. Ye're obsolete; you belong to th' past, when rats still had a choice. Ye're a job I've gotta do, an' nothin' more. How I do that job's up to you … an' it may be th' last choice you ever get t' make." His paw tightened around the hilt of his sword. "Now step back an' lower that ugly excuse fer a weapon, or I'll spill yer guts right here an' now."

The rat neither retreated nor moved his club, glaring at Jaffox as his indignant, riled breath came in puffed snorts. Behind him, a fox stepped forward hesitantly, perhaps thinking he could more easily treat with his fellow vulpine. "Y' say y' want only th' rats? That y' mean no harm to th' rest of us?"

"That's what I said. My only concern today is with your rats. As fer th' rest of you joinin' us, that's a discussion that can wait fer another time, if y' need t' think on it. But we ain't leavin' here without the rats."

"Hmm … " The fox seemed to be seriously considering this.

Now the club-wielding rat did take his attention off Jaffox, glaring over his shoulder at his duplicitous comrade. "Mungin, what're y' doin'? We gotta stand t'gether 'gainst this! United front, just like allers!"

"'cept we ain't united no more, are we? It's just you rats they want. They'll leave th' rest of us be. Look at 'em - they already outnumber us, an' they say they serve a badger who might be able t' send even more 'gainst us than this."

"An' you berlieve that?! Vermin like this, servin' a badger? Load o' tripe, sure as I'm standin' here." The rat looked back to Jaffox just in time to see the hulking fox's blade slide out of its scabbard with an ominous shisk.

"Guess you've made yer views clear, ain'tcha?" The rat tried to parry and attack with his club at the same time, all while twisting to avoid the seeking blade. But Jaffox twisted and parried and slashed with superior skill and experience, laying open the rat chief's belly without allowing his opponent to so much as graze him.

The rat collapsed to his knees with a pained grunt, club fallen from his failing grasp as he clutched at his mortal wound with both paws as if desperately trying to hold his ebbing life inside him.

Jaffox sneered down at the wounded rodent in cruel triumph. "Ah - allers sumpthin' 'bout a beast that knows it's just been slain but hasn't died yet that really gets t' me. That look in their eyes, allers that same look, like they'd strike any bargain, give ev'rything they have, jus' to have it be any other way, an' knowin' it wasn't. That realerzation that these're their last moments in this world, moments of pain an' misery an' terror an' disappointment that it's all come down to this, an' there won't be no more, no matter how hard they wish or plead with fate." The sadistic grin on his face widened. "Now those're th' moments I live fer!"

The rat fell over onto his side, whimpering with eyes closed; he knew as well as Jaffox that deep belly wounds, in addition to being exceedingly painful, could also take a long time to kill you.

Jaffox looked up to scan the rest of the fallen rat's compatriots, bloodied sword still held out at his side, ready to bring to bear against any foe who showed the poor sense to charge him. Some stood poised between fight and flight, weapons half-drawn or half-raised in response to this savage attack upon their leader, but none dared directly challenge this new nightmare in their midst.

"Now that you've seen how serious we are, I trust there'll be no more back-talk or unwise moves … if y' know what's good fer you. Bryn, Bogdan, start roundin' up all th' rats, get 'em tied up an' disarmed an' in line, so's we can be outta here by - "

An arrow thudded into Jaffox's shoulder, launched from the recesses of the caves above, cutting off his order in mid-sentence. The thick padding of his layered outfit kept the shaft from penetrating any farther than its arrowhead, but this was enough to elicit from him a howl of pained rage, and he immediately spun into a defensive whirl like a dervish, making it harder for any other arrow that found him to fully bite and take hold.

A second arrow found the weasel Bogdan, already striding forward to carry out Jaffox's curtailed instructions, taking him in the chest and sending him to the ground, never to rise again. Several others of Jaffox's squad and his adoptive valley horde took hits as well, ranging from nuisance grazes to lethal transfixations, and the newer recruits made to scatter in their panic. The situation was hardly helped when every rat present, having seen and heard what lay in store for them, charged the intruders with weapons raised, joined by many of their companion foxes and weasel-types, emboldened by the ambush unleashed from above and convinced a united front now could drive the aggressor from their home.

Out of the corner of his frantic eye Jaffox saw Collijack's Gawtrybe swinging down from the clifftop and throwing themselves en masse at the enemy there, and he knew those archers would pose no further threat. Freed from this concern he whirled his sword over his head and charged into the fray, bellowing, "KILL 'EM! KILL 'EM ALL!"

His fellow Northland foxes responded at once, rallying to him as they had so many times in the past in so many battles, surging forward to meet the foe with ruthless fury to match their commander's. Bryn and his own Mossflower fighters, seeing this, recovered from their scattering panic and, realizing that no further shafts showered down on them now, reunited to join the offensive led by the hulking fox berserker.

And a berserker Jaffox now truly became, cutting down the first two rats who closed in on him, thinking to make easy work of the ungainly fox with a two-on-one engagement. They learned in their final moments that their opponent's size did not translate into lumbering clumsiness, nor did his unrefined and brutish aspect equate to a simple brute's lack of battle skill. The two rodents felled, Jaffox roared and raged onward in search of his next victim, his stoked bloodlust now insatiable.

It quickly became clear Jaffox meant to leave not a single creature in this settlement alive. Bryn, leading his own mixed force, laid low a stoat with quick spear thrusts to the arms and legs, followed up by a solid whack to the side of the head to send him to the ground in pained grogginess. Taking the stoat to be out of the fight, Bryn made to move on, but one of Jaffox's squad, turning about at that moment to glimpse the tail end of the clash, whirled on Bryn with anger in his eyes.

"Whadd're y' doin'?!" Lunging past Bryn, the fox buried his sword in the wounded stoat's chest, slaying him with a single thrust. Looking back to Bryn, he shouted, "Don't let Jaffox see you leavin' a job half-finished like that, if y' know what's good fer you! Never leave an enemy alive behind you!"

More of the settlement's fighters fell before the merciless onslaught, unprepared for this mix of military prowess and relentless savagery so utterly unlike anything they'd ever before faced or even imagined. The fox Mungin, who'd seemed about to agree to Jaffox's terms and allow the rats to be taken, cast aside his own blade and fell to his knees, beseeching, "I surrender! I'll fight you no more!"

"Nay, you won't," Jaffox growled, cleaving Mungin's head from his shoulders with a single clean swipe.

Paces later a similar scene played out again as a weasel, bereft of his weapon, cowered before Jaffox with clasped paws and tear-filled eyes. "Spare me, please!" he pleaded. "A boon, I beg o' ye, spare me!"

Jaffox didn't.

And then, in a surprisingly short time that seemed like an eternity to those caught within this nightmare of slaughter, the dell had been cleansed, every enemy combatant slain where the tide of bloodshed had overtaken them. A few who had sought to flee up into the surrounding forest to escape certain death lay transfixed by Gawtrybe shafts, death finding them just as certainly in spite of their best attempts to preserve their lives.

Jaffox stood in the midst of the carnage, his layered garments peeled away from his left shoulder so he could apply a poultice to the arrow wound there; that comparative pinprick represented the totality of the injuries he'd suffered in the course of this battle, no other blade, spear, shaft or mace finding its way to him through his thundering rage. Bryn and some of his longtime comrades stood a short distance away, surveying the field of corpses around them with haunted, hooded expressions, a stark contrast to the unperturbed, no-nonsense attitude displayed by Jaffox, now that his battle fever had subsided. The stoat subcommander Rejuna, with Snosso limping behind in the company of his own fox reserves, picked his way down into the wide dell to join the others, having missed the fight altogether since the enemy had been wiped out without any call for reinforcements. They too beheld the aftermath with stunned shock. Krayne's periodic executions had been one thing, a concession to satisfy the baser thirsts of his vermin fighters, but this went beyond anything those hordebeasts might have thought they'd ever want to see. Krayne himself might have hoped to someday unleash violence of this magnitude, and might even have savored it in his own way - but he couldn't have. Not like this.

And it began to dawn on Bryn and Snosso and Rejuna and the others of Krayne's old horde that they may just have thrown in their lot with an insane beast.

Collijack strode up to Jaffox to deliver his own report. "All resistance from the cliff caverns has been neutralized. That appears to be where they made their dwellings. We've found no sign of family beasts - no babes, or oldsters. Looks like this was just a hideout for troublemakers of an age to cause trouble."

"Pity we couldn'ta brought 'em in," Jaffox grunted, satisfied with the placement of his bandaged poultice and shrugging his tunic back into place. Glancing Bryn's way, he added, "Well, at least I brought one horde in this season, an' that's fair 'nuff, ain't it?"

"Bogdan's dead," Bryn said hollowly. "Weasels'll need a new subcommander."

"Then pick one. Or let 'em pick one from amongst themselves. I don't care."

"Sir," Bryn pressed on, "if there had been family beasts here … what would you o' done?"

Jaffox gave the ferret a withering glare. "They started it. 'Member that, Lieutenant. They started it. Whaddya _think_ I'da done?"

Bryn didn't probe further, or answer the fox's rhetorical question. He didn't have to, and that knowledge made him shudder.

"Right, let's get goin'," Jaffox continued. "We got two more pockets o' rats I wanna get cleared out by day's end if we can. We're keepin' to a good schedule, an' I don't wanna start laggin' now."

The ferret motioned toward the carpeted clutter of corpses filling the glade. "What about th' fallen? We just gonna leave 'em here, uncovered, fer th' birds an' insecks t' pick at?"

"Why not? They were fool 'nuff t' ambush us an' resist."

"Uh, I was talkin' 'bout _our_ fallen. Bogdan was an officer … an' you lost one o' yer own Northland foxes too."

"They all know how it works under my command. They know th' risks, an' that falling in battle's a real chance, an' that there ain't allers time t' tidy up afterwards. Leave 'em. Sergeant Collijack, go get our rat prisoners brought forward to resume our march - an' make sure t' bring 'em straight through here. None of 'em've yet got a taste of what we can do when we get provoked, an' I wanna give 'em a good eyeful in case any of 'em 've got it in mind to cause us trouble or make a fuss later on. This sight oughta chase such notions right outta their heads!"

If anything, Jaffox underestimated the effect this carnage would have on their bound company of rat captives as the Gawtrybe marshaled them across the scene of battle. Simple woodland rodents, many of whom had never taken a life themselves or engaged in lethal violence, they were dumbstruck by the gory tableau, scarcely able to accept that such wanton bloodshed had unfolded such a short way from where they'd hunkered in the forest under the watchful eyes of their captors. If any had doubted before now that Jaffox had meant every threat hurled their way since their capture - and more - none doubted it after seeing this terrible sight. The fox would just as soon slay them out of paw as deliver them to the searats.

With Jaffox and the Gawtrybe leading the way west into the deeper woods once more, on their way to their next target, followed by the bound and trudging rats swept up in this operation so far, Bryn and his hordebeasts were left to bring up the rear, in the miniature army's usual formation. Seeing that the Northlanders were far enough ahead so that they'd not easily notice a momentary delay, Bryn took aside his own second-in-command and some of the others.

"Moyd, Snosso, I want you an' a team to tarry behind an' get graves dug fer our dead. None o' these idjits who ambushed an' fought us - that brute's right about that much, so we'll leave 'em to the elements. But Bogdan deserves a decent burial, an' so do the others we lost 'ere today. See to it they get it."

Snosso accepted this order with the same bristling reluctance he'd shown Bryn ever since the ferret had taken over the horde in the wake of Krayne's death and Harth's desertion, split now between relief at being able to rest and linger here for a while and knowing that meant he'd have to push that much harder on his lame leg to catch up once he was done. "Jaffox ain't gonna like that, boss."

"Then he can take it up with me. Won't require more'n a small pawful o' you to see to this, so 'ee might not even miss that ye're gone fer a spell. These're my orders, so I'll catch any heat that madfox wants t' gimme over it."

Moyd swallowed and nodded. "'ee sure 'nuff is one o' those, ain't 'ee, 'tenant? A madbeast, I mean?"

Bryn glanced around at all the bodies surrounding them, friend and foe mingled together in death and dismemberment, even if the foe did greatly outnumber their slain comrades. "Do y' really doubt it?"

"What've we got ourselves inta?" groaned a weasel named Juberlyn.

"An' what about that 'un?" Snosso nodded toward the only fox of the Northlanders to have fallen in this clash. "Want we should bury 'im too?"

"Naw, don't bother. Jaffox didn't think it mattered whether he was buried or not, an' if he don't care that much 'bout 'is own foxes, why should we?"


	25. Chapter XXIV

**XXIV.**

 **THE _GOODWILL_**

Ramjohn awoke a prisoner aboard his own ship.

Through the pain behind his eyes flitted memories of the battle for the _Goodwil_ l … how the dreadnought had hailed them and come up alongside as if for a routine cargo inspection, in spite of the fact that those massive warships never took part in such stops … how the searat boarding party had numbered three times the usual contingent, raising eyebrows quite a bit but suspicions not nearly enough … how, after a stem-to-stern and top-to-bottom survey of the cargo vessel, during which the searats showed far more interest in the ship and her crew than any of their load, the blades and bows had come out in a treacherous ambush that took out most resistance before the woodlanders even had a chance to rally … how Chobor, standing at the fore of the valiant defenders, had been cut down after felling two rats with his pike …

The captive mouse captain felt his cheek fur grow damp as this particular memory surfaced. Of all the companions he'd shared the seas with over the seasons, he and Chobor went back the farthest together, the stalwart river otter always dependably at Ramjohn's side in any pinch, ready to see the day through. Except that this time, Chobor had not lived to see it through the day.

Ramjohn had always sworn, going back to long before the Accord, that if this moment ever came, he would not allow himself to be taken alive. And now here he was, chained in his own hold, to the best of his knowledge the sole survivor of the _Goodwill_ 's crew.

The small craft accompanying the warship should have been a tipoff. The dreadnought was bad enough, a mobile fortress scouring the sea lanes, but the fleetrunners represented an entirely different threat all their own, one darker and more nefarious than mere brutes and bullies, and to see one travelling in the company of a four-catapult monstrosity ought to have signified that more was going on here than mere harassing shenanigans. If Tratton's spies had interest in the _Goodwill_ , that could only be as bad as bad could get.

Before losing consciousness, fallen to the bloodied deck with his faithful crew being struck down all around him, Ramjohn had caught snatches of talk from the assailants … or maybe it had been later, when he was being dragged belowdecks and shackled here in this half-empty cargo bay … talk about how these raiders had never been after spoils and tribute at all, but had meant to capture the _Goodwill_ right from the start … and how that vessel was now to be delivered to Tratton as some kind of prize, for some purpose the mouse could only guess at.

The dreadnought had since moved on, although she had left her name imprinted on Ramjohn's memory like an insult, like a curse.

The _Skyburn_.

The giant warship may have no longer escorted the _Goodwill_ on this voyage to Terramort, but she had left behind enough of her sailors to run the trader vessel and see Ramjohn's captured ship all the way to her new adopted port. That crew, however, now took their orders not from the dreadnought's Captain Koncurat or any of his officers but from the sinister master of _Fleetrunner Eight_ , temporary overseer of their claimed conquest.

Cyntar stood at the helm of the seized _Goodwill_ , the steersrat at the wheel beside him keeping knuckles white as he clutched the spindles, silently wishing he could be somewhere else, or that the spyrat monitoring their progress would wander off to unnerve rats on some other part of the ship. No other member of the boarding crew ventured near the wheeldeck as long as Cyntar maintained his position there, giving Uroza's agent the widest possible berth without coming across as blatantly disrespectful - an endeavor at which they only partly succeeded.

"These woodlanders gave a better fight than I would have supposed," Cyntar remarked. "I didn't think we would lose so many rats to them."

"Aye, but we got 'em all in the end, didn't we?" the steersrat ventured, feeling some sort of reply was required. "An' th' ship King Tratton wanted, an' 'er cap'n in chains, case we gotta ask 'im 'bout anything we might need t' know."

"I doubt he'll talk. Not now, not after seeing what we did to his shipmates. That seamouse is made of stern stuff - I could tell that much just by looking at him. Never underestimate woodlanders, soft as they may seem in their honesty and compassion. They can have spines of steel to match their blades, and courage to equal any of His Majesty's fighters."

"Um … aye, sir."

In the end, it hadn't taken Trangle or anyrat aboard the _Redfoam_ to spread the alert which had led to the _Goodwill_ 's capture. It hadn't even taken Jagtar or Rotax, Tratton's fleetrunner escorts to Salamandastron, to do the job. Word of what Clucus required for his latest weapons trials had been been distributed throughout the Fleet, and to the fleetrunners and their spyrat crews in particular, and so when Cyntar spotted the _Goodwill_ one day out from Salamandastron and made careful note of her heading, _Fleetrunner Eight_ went in search of a warship equal to the task of confiscating the trader vessel. Any frigate or galleon would have done, but as it turned out the dreadnought _Skyburn_ would lay claim to that privilege, being the first searat battler to cross Cyntar's path.

The triumphant spyrat had no way of knowing that, many leagues to the northwest, the _Skyburn_ was at that very moment about to enter an engagement of a very different sort, with a very different quarry, the outcome of which still very much hung in the balance.

"In another day's time," Cyntar told the steersrat, "we'll have this prize to Terramort … and then we'll see what that maskfaced genius of ours can make of it."

 **THE _REDFOAM_**

"Oh, um, who're you again?"

Tadrousse's face fell as she stared at Latura in disappointed disbelief. "Lattie, it's me. Tadpole. We only sat right next t' each other fer all those wretched days of this voyage 'fore Cap'n freed ya. Don'tcha … don'tcher remember?"

The prophetic ratmaid's features lit up in delight. "Oh, Tadpole! Why didn'tcher say so? Didn't reckergnize ya, outside that stinky place an' outta yer chains!"

Palter, relaxing on one of the topdeck hatches alongside his fellow villager as they took in the ocean breezes and the pure sunshine of this, their second morning of freedom aboard the _Redfoam_ , shot Tadrousse a sympathetic glance. "Don't let it bother you, Taddy. Lattie ain't good at 'mem'brin' names 'n' faces, 'specially outta place from where she's used ta seein' 'em. She still can't 'member my name most o' the time, an' I known her lots longer'n you have."

Tadrousse shook her head. "Anyways, our two high-falutin' leaders wanna see you up on th' wheeldeck, Lattie. They're havin' some disagreement over what we oughta do next, an' they wanna pick yer brain over it. Best be along with ye - they still seem t' see you as valuable now, but no tellin' how much longer that'll last, so I'd not keep 'em waitin'."

Latura perked up, but not at the female rat's enjoinder, as her next words attested. "Ooo! Big ship comin'! Real big 'un! Gotta get goin'!" And with that she sprang up from the hatch and sprinted across to an open companionway through which she disappeared down into the depths of the galleon.

Palter and Tadrousse stood atop the raised hatchway to scan the ocean around them in all directions, but could see no sign of any other vessel anywhere on the encircling horizon. "Now what was all _that_ about?" Tadrousse wondered aloud. "Better not be any more of her idle silliness, or Potdar won't be pleased - or Cap'n Cordato neither."

Palter stared after the now-departed Latura. "Nay, I doubt it's silliness. Not when she acts like that. Means sumpthin' … we just gotta wait an' see what."

Up on the wheeldeck, Potdar watched Latura fleeing in the opposite direction from where she'd been summoned and shook his head, then returned his attention to matters closer to paw. It turned out Cordato had another challenger aboard, this one from his own ranks, and Potdar found himself relishing this newly-blossomed rivalry as he stood back and watched the two searats come to verbal blows.

"Well, I says we go south," argued a burly rat named Tropsa, "all th' way south, t' where Tratton's navy never ventures. We're all good as dead long as we stay in his waters. We'll be found out sooner rather than later if we stick to the open main, an there ain't no isle in all 'is territory where we c'n hide ferever. Go south I says, south past th' lower meridian, where he'd be a fool t' follow!"

"Aye, an' y' know why he'd be a fool t' do that?" Cordato shot back. "'Cos those're the waters where all the other corsairs got pushed down by Farca an' Garwal, an' then even more mercilessly by Tratton 'imself. An' what those seagoin' ferrets an' weasels an' foxes would do to us if they caught us there'd be no better'n what we'd face from our fellow rats. They'd slay us nice 'n' slow, whether we're on th' run from Tratton or not, just fer bein' searats. Goin' south's a death sentence, just as sure as sailin' up to th' shores of Terramort an' knockin' on the palace doors would be!"

"Well, north ain't no better," Tropsa insisted, "since Tratton owns all th' seas 'tween here an' there, an' we'd hafta go so far north to elude his eyes that we'd be condemnin' ourselves to th' frozen wastes! We're temperate rats, not arctic foxes or snow ermine!"

"Fergettin' what time o' year 'tis, bottlebrain? Almost end o' spring - we got a whole season an' then some ahead o' us when those latitudes _won't_ be frozen wastes, an' lots more hospitable than they usually are. We can head up there an' stick to those waters 'til the ice starts buildin' in again, an' then turn south only when we hafta. Give it inta early fall, an' they might all 've written off th' _Redfoam_ as lost at sea, an' not be lookin' fer us anymore."

"Don't mean they might not still catch us when we head back south again, whether they've given up searchin' fer us or not. But it might not take 'em that long to nab us; if th' north's thawed out an' hospitable 'nuff fer us, it'll be that way fer 'em as well. Tratton's cap'ns will venture farther north than at other times o' year, so there'll still be ships we'll hafta hide from. If we're gonna hafta come south again anyway when th' weather turns, why not jus' turn that way now? That'll save us one extra crossin' of Imperial waters teemin' with those who'd cut our throats!"

"Who said we'd be crossin' Tratton's waters when we head south come autumn?" Cordato said with a crafty smile.

"What? Ye're talkin' 'bout goin' up over the Northlands alt'gether, an' comin' down inta the Eastern Sea? Tratton's got ships sailin' those waters too. Wouldn't gain us naught."

"Wasn't thinkin' o' goin' east. T'was west I had in mind."

"West?" Tropsa's face showed pure befuddlement at this announcement.

"Aye," Cordato affirmed with a nod. "'Tis said there's another continent clear on the other side o' the Western Sea, with lands an' waters Tratton's never been, nor our corsair friends neither. My plan's t' sail far 'nuff north to take advantage of th' summer melt, then head west 'til we're well clear o' Imperial waters, then turn south an' seek out those new lands. Mebbe they'll have seagoin' vessels of their own sailin' up 'n' down their coasts, an' mebbe we'll have those sea lanes all to ourselves. Either way, we'll not be meetin' up with any o' Tratton's crews who'll be lookin' t' take our heads, or corsairs just as eager t' do likewise."

Tropsa stood flabbergasted by the audacity of Cordato's scheme. "Ye're talkin' 'bout … uncharted waters? Undiscovered territory? That's … that's just crazy!"

"Crazy, huh? You got a better idea that won't get us dead by season's end? South's out, due to the corsairs we'd never hope to avoid, an' north's out too, if we just tarry out th' summer there an' wait fer Tratton's ships t' find us. East takes us back t' Mossflower an' th' Northlands, where Urthblood'll get us sooner or later. That leaves us just one option: north, then west."

"Then why ain't we headin' west right now?" Potdar put in; he was no nautical rat, having lived all his life on land, but even to him it was obvious from the sun's position that they now sailed east, back toward the heart of Tratton's Empire. "Why didn't we jus' turn about an' strike out to th' west, straight fer these new lands o' yers where searats an' corsairs never go?"

Cordato and Tropsa both regarded the land rat as if Potdar was insane. "W-west?" Tropsa sputtered. "Clear 'cross the unexplored, open main?! Where there might not even be another continent waitin' fer us on the other side - just endless expanses of treacherous an' storm-tossed seas, goin' on fer as long as anybeast c'n sail in a lifetime? You ever hear o' th' Green Maelstrom, matey?"

"Naw, can't say I ever have," Potdar admitted.

"Well, I seen it. Near ev'ry rat of ev'ry crew in Tratton's Fleet has, one time or 'nother. An' seein' that angry, swirlin' hole in the ocean's enuff t' give a rat a lifelong respect fer th' horrors th' sea can hold. No tellin' what we'd encounter if we were t' try a straight crossin' - but more'n likely, it'd be the end fer us all!"

"Well, what's th' diff'rence 'tween goin' straight west an' tip-pawin' our way north then west then south agin? Either route gets us to th' same place."

"Goin' north takes us through waters we know," Cordato explained. "An' once we're as far north as we c'n safely go, th' route west will be shorter, due to th' higher latitudes. We'll tip-paw, as you put it, right around th' open heart of th' Western Sea an' avoid any perils lurkin' there. 'Sides, we're still ridin' the eastward currents that helped carry us past Talaga with such good speed. No ship's likely to catch us this way, since they'd be runnin' counter to favorable winds 'n' currents. We'll keep on this way 'til we catch a strong northward flow, then we'll be on our way outta Tratton's territory with th' winds fillin' our sails an' th' sea bearin' us right where we wanna be."

"Yeah," Tropsa added with a derisive snort, "shows how little you landlubbers know 'bout th' ways o' the sea, an' how ye'd best keep yer ignorant traps shut!" One would never have known that just moments before, he and Cordato had been so vociferously arguing their opposing views over which way to aim the _Redfoam_ on her course.

"An' where's Lattie got to anyway?" Cordato brought up. "We need 'er up here t' weigh in on this."

"Saw 'er scuttle belowdecks," Potdar informed the two searats. "Guess she had other ideas, huh?"

Before they could denigrate Potdar or Latura further, a cry from the crow's nest made Cordato and Tropsa glance skyward. "Ship! Ship! We got a ship, southern horizon!"

Cordato clambered down from the wheeldeck to stand directly below the lookout. "What kinda ship is it, Trovs?"

Trovato took his time in answering, wanting to be sure. "Red, black an' green sails, sir! She's a ship o' th' Fleet." Another pause. "Could be a dreadnought."

"A dreadnought? Well, curse us all to th' seabed!" Cordato stood grinding his fangs as Potdar and Tropsa came up alongside him. "What would one o' Tratton's master craft be doin' this way?"

"Well, we are somewhere 'tween Talaga an' Terramort," said Tropsa, "an' Tratton's keepin' all his dreadnoughts away from th' coasts, where Urthblood might be able t' get at 'em with his firegulls. Makes sense they'd be patrollin' the sea lanes farther out … " He glared at Cordato. "If'n we'd turned south when I first said we oughta … "

"Then we mighta run right smack inta them," Cordato completed the thought testily. "My mistake was ridin' these currents an' winds long as I did, an' not turnin' north 'fore now."

Potdar snorted from behind them. "Guess I ain't the only one 'round here ignerant of th' sea ways, am I?"

"I'm goin' up," Cordato announced, no sooner uttering this declaration than leaping up into the riggings and scaling the rope webbing to gain the topmost lookout position himself. For some while he maintained his perch up there alongside Trovato, studying the approaching vessel through Trangle's long glass. At length he descended again in anxious haste to join the small crowd who'd gathered on the deck below. "Yeah, she's a dreadnought, sure 'nuff. Aimed right at us too, an' under full sail. Too late t' lower our own sails - she's sure to've spotted us by now, so hidin's outta the question."

"Any chance she'll pass us by, without engagin' us?" Potdar hoped.

"A chance? Mebbe, but not likely. It's custom fer ships' captains who encounter each other on th' high seas t' get t'gether an' gab, shoot th' breeze an' trade stories an' news. If we ignore their hails, it'll make 'em damned curious as t' why … an' you c'n be sure they'll wanna investergate."

Potdar continued to grasp at straws. "Can we outrun 'em?"

"Mebbe if we had a full rowin' galley of strong oarsrats, but not with th' crew we got now. That dreadnought may look big an' lumberin', but she's also got lots more sail'n we do, an' a full crew t' shape 'em to the winds. She c'n skim along fit t' match us, an' prob'ly overtake us in less than a day, if it comes to a flat-out chase. Runnin' now'd only let 'em know all's not as it's s'posed t' be aboard th' _Redfoam_."

"Then let's fight, sez I." Tropsa eyed the lashed-down catapult amidships. "We got heavy weapons we can bring t' bear."

Cordato followed the other rat's gaze. "Oh, that'd be brilliant. We got one catapult; a dreadnought's got four. They'd have us outgunned right from the start."

"Not if we hit 'em with a sneak attack," Tropsa pressed. "Mebbe take out their catapults 'fore they c'n take out ours."

"Ah ha. Then lemme ask this: Have we got even one experienced, halfway-decent fusilier 'mongst us? 'Cos these things take some careful an' practiced aimin' t' get right. If we try that, like as not our shots will hit in the water 'round 'em, tipping them off that we're hostile before we've landed a single blow. There would go our element of surprise up in flames - an' then would go th' _Redfoam_ up in flames too, an' all of us right along with 'er."

Potdar insisted upon clinging to whatever small hope he could. "But, they can't know we've turned, can they? Can't know there's been a revolt. You lot're all searats, just like them. Can't we pull off some kinda masquerade if they do insist on comin' aboard? All us woodlanders c'n hide belowdecks, while you lot pretend t' be the captain an' crew … "

Cordato shook his head. "Wouldn't work, fer th' same reason landin' at Talaga wouldn'ta worked. Ev'ry ship's captain carries a registry of all other current captains, an' it's updated reg'larly. They'll know Trangle's s'posed t' be cap'n of the _Redfoam_ , an' they'll asked some pretty pointed questions if they find out he's not. We'd not be able to pull it off, no matter how convincin' our act is."

"So, what? We can't hide, we can't outrun 'em, we can't fight 'em … you sayin' we just sit back an' let 'em slaughter us all?"

Cordato stared hard at Potdar. "Consid'rin' a dreadnought typically carries upwards o' two hunnerd fightin' rats, in addition to their reg'lar large seafarin' crew, yeah, I'd say slaughter's pretty much what we can expect. Mebbe if it'd been another galleon, or even a frigate, we mighta had some hope o' pullin' sumpthin' outta the fire, but a dreadnought? Ain't happenin'. Looks like our hard-fought freedom wasn't meant t' last more'n a couple o' days, so hope you enjoyed it while y' had it."

Podar seemed about to launch into another indignant retort when a hush fell over the rats around them and he, Cordato and Tropsa realized the small crowd was parting to allow Latura to step forward. The land rats could not even have begun to appreciate the significance of what the slight ratmaid clutched to her belly, but the searats needed only one look at the oaken cask cradled in the feeble paws of the prophetic figure who'd made their revolt possible to grasp that the situation had just taken a twist in an entirely new direction at her behest, the certainty of which was sealed by Latura's next words, delivered with her usual clueless innocence.

"Powder go boom."


	26. Chapter XXV

**XXV.**

 **SOUTHSWARD**

Alexander's first glimpse of Castle Floret struck him like a vision out of legends - which, for any Redwaller, it truly was.

The cream-colored towers and spires with their red tile conical tops jutted far above the surrounding forestlands, and would have done so anyway even had the castle not sat atop the high plateau lifting it halfway to the sky. At this distance the magnificent edifice still resembled something out of a dream, finer details indistinct and outlines hazy against the boundless blue sky. The shimmering visage danced in the Abbey squirrel's eyes, just as the raft he rode upriver danced and bounced on the currents beneath them.

The Northlanders in his company seemed no less taken with the royal seat of Southsward, Abellon and his mice staring toward the castle with equally rapt wonder, even if Floret meant less to their own history and traditions than it did to Alex. Only Urthblood, positioned near the center of the raft in appreciation of his heavy armor which would surely drown him were he to fall overboard, regarded the center of this region's power and authority with his usual cool and calculating dispassion, as if unsurprised, unmoved and unimpressed by the sight before him. Had he seen Floret before in his mind's eye? With this badger it was impossible to know, but nobeast there would have discounted the possibility.

"I never thought I'd see this with my own eyes," Alex remarked to Skipper Dawton, who stood beside him at the raft's leading edge, where the wood timbers underpaw bucked gently at the resisting river flow and threw up a refreshing spray especially favored by the otters. "We have tales of this place … some of the key figures from our history had a paw in the events of these lands, many generations past … "

Dawton nodded. "An' that part they played's not been forgot, even after all this time, of that I can assure ye. Matter o' fact, it's kinda coincidental, you of all beasts arrivin' just when you did, given th' season. First day o' summer's always when Floret holds a special festival, an' not just t' welcome th' new season. Reckon we'll get there in time fer ye t' see for yoreselves."

Alex glanced at the otter in surprise. "What kind of festival?"

"Guess you could call it Liberation Day. That's what they call it, sometimes. I'll say no more, so as not t' spoil it for ye." Dawton took in the vista before them, of far-looming castle peaks showing above the nearer treetops. "Actshully woulda seen Floret even sooner than this, if not fer th' thick-growin' forest hereabouts an' th' twisty course this broadstream takes through it. I'd say we got another half-day t' go on the river, an' that'll take us close as we can get 'fore we'll hafta dock up an' make th' rest of th' journey by land. We'll be at Floret well before sundown, an' you can mark me on that." His gaze went to the thick woods along the south banks, where fleeting red forms flitting through the trees could be spotted by sharp-eyed observation, effortlessly keeping abreast of the riverborne company. "At least the dense forest's workin' well fer _them_."

"I had no doubt that the Gawtrybe could keep pace with us, as long as the forest held out," Urthblood rumbled from behind them. "This arrangement has worked well. I must thank you again for allowing us the use of your rafts, Skipper Dawton, and for your effort in helping to speed us along in this fashion."

"Doin' it as much fer us as fer you, Lord. Any excuse to drop by Floret's welcome, 'specially at festival time, an' I'd not miss the chance to introduce the Badger Lord o' Salamandastron to th' Squirrel King of Southsward!"

"What is King Fael like?" Alex asked the otter chieftain, and not for the first time, eager for himself to glean if he might some preliminary idea of what success Urthblood was likely to meet with here. "Do you imagine he'll be receptive to making an alliance with Salamandastron?"

"Whelp," Dawton answered unhelpfully, "His Majesty doesn't seem to've been too keen on agreein' to anything with those skintailed sea thieves who came this way earlier this season - but then, there's a world o' diff'rence 'tween searats an' badgers, ain't there?"

"Depends on the badger," Alex muttered.

"Is this the same river taken by the searat delegation?" Abellon asked.

"Th' very same, liddle matey. Rowed themselves right up the center of this selfsame broadstream on their way to Floret."

"And nobeast knows what became of them after that?" Urthblood pressed.

"Oh, somebeast knows, an' prob'ly a whole lot o' somebeasts, you can be shore o' that. Just not me, an' mebbe nobeast outside the Royal Court. My guess is they're still guests there at Floret. As t' whether they're willin' guests … " Dawton shrugged.

"Any chance we might run inta them on their way back down to the sea?" Abellon wondered.

"Always a chance, I reckon. But that'd be mighty coincidental, wouldn't it, them leavin' Floret after all this time, on the exact day we're headin' upriver t' get there?"

"Stranger things have happened," Urthblood intoned.

"Just wanna be ready t' meet 'em if we do run inta each other," the mouse captain elaborated. "Those we saw out on th' coast weren't exactly the friendliest of sorts, an' looked like they were of a mind t' cause us some real trouble if Lord Urthblood hadn't put 'em in their place quick an' sharpish. I can imagine this other bunch bein' particularly prickly an' ornery if things didn't go their way with King Fael, an' they might not be too keen on sharin' this river with us."

"Not t' worry," Dawton assured Abellon. "They might be rats of wave an' wake, but we're river otters, an' we know this watercourse better'n any seabeast. If we were to butt heads, it'd be them who'd wind up in the drink, not us!"

"My Gawtrybe ashore would spot any downriver-bound party well ahead of time," Urthblood attested, "and would give us plenty of warning. We will not be taken unawares."

Dawton glanced over his shoulder at the badger. "What o' yore second sight, Lord? Couldn't ye see such trouble an' know it's coming?"

"Not always. My prophetic vision shows me what it will, not what I choose. And most of what it reveals leans toward overarching events, not specific and isolated incidents."

"Ah." Dawton nodded. "An' which would yore meetin' with King Fael fall under? Then again, I guess if you already knew how it would turn out, you wouldn't even hafta be here, would you?"

"On the contrary. Even if I could know the outcome of my negotiations here ahead of time, they would still come to naught if I did not follow through with physical action. I cannot will treaties and pacts from afar with my mind and desire alone; face-to-face discussions will always be necessary in such endeavors. As it was in the Northlands, so shall it be here as well."

"Um, makes sense when you explain it that way," Dawton granted.

For the rest of that morning and into the afternoon the small procession of Bluesnake rafts pushed their way upstream against the modest spring currents, slowly but surely inching their way toward their regal destination, their progress still faster than it would have been on foot. Along the way they passed several more riverbank settlements, mostly otter holts whose members swam out into the river to gambol about Dawton's rafts and exchange news in brief bursts of bobbing chitchat, but also a couple of dock ports seemingly presided over by mice and hedgehogs. And while most showed surprise at the Badger Lord's presence here in Southsward, nowhere did the travellers encounter anything resembling hostility or suspicion - not with so many mice in their company, and Skipper Dawton's otters helping them along their way. Urthblood had chosen his travel companions well for this journey.

From Alexander's perspective, the badger's foresight in this regard only proved frustrating. The Gawtrybe would provide a common connection with the Squirrel King and his kin, Abellon's mice would stand as a non-threatening envoy to the other woodlander species, and now that Urthblood had at least partly gained the confidence of Dawton's Bluesnake otters, this would all make it that much harder for Alex to state his own case and assert Redwall's position here - one lone voice of caution, no matter how urgent, against the combined voices of nearly threescore mice and squirrels, and a Badger Lord on top of it all. In fact, the more urgently he pressed his case, he realized, the more he risked coming across as unreasonable and unhinged, his accounts flying in the face of what everybeast else was saying, and hearing. It dawned on him with growing dejection that Urthblood truly had little to fear from the Redwaller's presence, and if that were so, why wouldn't he agree to have Alex along for this trip?

But even if he could use his voice to little avail during this royal visit, Alex could still at least use his eyes and ears. He would stay alert to everything going on around him, glean whatever of value he could, and bide his time to see whether opportunity presented itself for him to win King Fael to his cause, and deliver a warning against Urthblood which might actually be believed.

Midafternoon, Dawton called a halt to his rowers, paddlers and punters, instructing them to beach their rafts on the south bank along a clearing in the trees which appeared well-used for such purposes. Tying up to posts driven into the grassy shore, the otters and their passengers disembarked to regain their land legs after spending since early morning on the river. As Abellon's mice sauntered back and forth to get themselves into marching shape once more, Sergeant Witko's Gawtrybe descended from the trees to gather at their master's pleasure as well.

Alex glanced around him, struck not for the first time how much Southsward could resemble Mossflower. The broadstream they'd just left could just as easily have been the Moss itself, and these forestlands any of the woods immediately around Redwall. The weather might have been a little warmer than his home environs typically got at this time of year, but only in the most subtle of ways, only if one really stopped to notice it. But one glance above the treeline drove home that this was not Mossflower, for there instead of a red-brick Abbey soared Floret, its lines and edges now set against the sky in sharp relief, looking almost close enough to reach out and touch. The additional half-day's travel had dispelled the hazy mist of the tableau, and now the flags and pennants flying from battlement and pole and tower peak snapped crisply in the breeze, clearly visible to the onlookers. So too could be seen the verdant, vertical carpet of green ivy encrusting many areas of the sheer outer walls, and ornamental vegetation of various other shades adorned the crenellations and windows. Truly, nothing like this existed anywhere in Mossflower. Foxguard might have Floret beat for altitude, but in terms of regal majesty, here was a royal palace befitting the name.

"Looks like we're here," Abellon said, voicing Alexander's own inner assessment.

"Don't be deceived," Dawton responded. "Might seem like we're right on Floret's doorstep, but we got another good solid hour's marchin' 'fore we reach the valley steps leadin' up to their gates - an' that's quite a climb in an' of itself. But don't worry, we'll have ye there in good time fer a grand supper!"

Urthblood strode to the center of the clearing, drew his sword and twirled it slowly high over his head. Within moments, one of his gulls which had been discreetly shadowing the group from the skies glided down and thumped onto the ground before the badger. Mammal and bird exchanged a few brief words overheard only by Abellon and Witko, and then the gull was airborne once more as Urthblood and his two commanders rejoined the others.

Dawton eyed the ascending seabird with a mixed gaze. "I'd known they were followin' us, Lord, but didn't know if they'd stick with us all th' way to Floret. Gulls don't oft make it this far inland."

"My gulls are my only line of communication to Salamandastron," Urthblood answered to the unspoken question. "This is the first I've travelled so far from the mountain since reaching the Accord with Tratton, and I would naturally wish to be kept abreast of happenings there in the most timely manner possible."

"Hmm. Not shore how King Fael'll feel 'bout having those winged nuisances visiting Floret. Ain't the kind o' creatures who're normally welcomed there, not even ones in service to a Badger Lord."

"I am confident some accommodation can be reached. I will not forgo these reports during my time in Southsward."

It did take an hour and then some for the mixed party of otters, mice and squirrels to circle through the woods around to the valley floor facing Floret's one and only egress to the surrounding countryside. Staring north at the massive stone staircase carved right into the high steep incline separating the castle drawbridge from the solid earth underpaw of their current vantage, Abellon said, "That's … an awful lotta steps."

"Why, shore," Dawton responded, as if surprised that the mouse might think it would be any other way. "A visit to the palace's a special thing, an' not to be undertaken lightly or on a whim. It takes a lot of breath an' muscle to get up there, but it's worth it fer special occasions, or an audience with His Majesty - which I guess counts as a special occasions all its own, don't it? Havin' such a stair t' climb discourages idle visitors an' unwelcome drop-ins."

"I c'n imagine," Abellon agreed with a nod, still not relishing the idea of tackling those hundreds of steps with his short legs.

"That's all well and good," Alex said to Dawton, "as long as it doesn't also cut the royal family off from their subjects. It's never a healthy situation when a divide exists between those who rule and those who are ruled."

The otter chieftain shot the Abbeybeast a cautionary glance. "Feel free t' raise such sentiments down here 'twixt ourselves, matey, 'cos ye'll wanna feel a little less free 'bout doin' so up where th' King an' his court could hear ye."

"At Redwall, we never shy from speaking our minds to our Abbot or Abbess, not even the lowliest kitchen helper or groundskeeper. Is your King overly sensitive to criticism or opposing views?"

"Well, he _is_ King, y' know."

Urthblood stood regarding the long, broad flight rising from forest floor to plateau. "I can appreciate the tactical advantages of this arrangement, if not so much the social aspects. Some of my own strongholds I've designed in the past - Foxguard, Doublegate - have also enjoyed the feature of a single entrance and exit, and the security it provides. Although I am forced to confess, such a design failed to serve my shrew fortress well, when it was attacked by fire and explosives. I shall endeavor not to use wood and timber as the main building material in any future garrisons I erect, if such can be avoided. So, shall we get started? These stairs will not climb themselves."

As the company commenced their ascent, with Urthblood, Dawton and Alex in the lead, the Redwaller once again studied all the banners and flags and pennants festooning the castle's exterior. It truly did seem, even though he was only seeing Floret for the very first time this day and could not have known its usual aspect, that the castle looming directly above them sported decorations more festive than the merely regal, declaring and announcing to all of nearer Southsward that some celebration was underway, and inviting guests to pause in their usual routines and make their way up to the royal court to join in the merriment. This air of open welcome stood at odds with Dawton's hints that the King discouraged casual visitors as well as contrary points of view. Perhaps things here were more complicated than any easy assessment or blanket statement could account for. Or, perhaps they had simply arrived at a fortuitous moment, when Floret would be more open to welcoming travellers than it otherwise might. Alex certainly hoped such would prove the case; it was enough that he'd have to stand as the lone dissenting voice against Urthblood and the badger's forces, without having an unreceptive and unyielding King to contend with as well.

"So," he said to Dawton, "tell me a little more about this 'Liberation Day' you alluded to earlier. You made it sound as if it's tied into the first day of summer. At Redwall, we hold Nameday celebrations to mark each new season. Is it something like that?"

"I … doubt it's like anything you folk celebrate at yore Abbey," the otter replied. "Tho' I could be wrong, seein' as how I've never been t' Redwall, an' can only guess yore ways 'n' customs. It's more like a … pageant, guess you could call it. Like an 'istorical re-enactment, comem'ratin' a key moment in our history."

Alexander's eyebrows shot up. "Why, we just held one of those last season. A program of short plays put on by our Abbey youngsters, acting out three episodes from the annals of Redwall."

"Oh? Then ye'll be able t' take in this one too, an' see how it compares t' yores. Assumin' we didn't miss it, that is; Liberation Day's a bit of a misleadin' name, since the celebration actshully lasts sev'ral days, but only one's the pageant itself. Could be t'was held yesterday, or even earlier today while we were on our way here. Guess we'll find out once we reach th' top, won't we?"

And reach the top they did, Abellon's mice huffing and puffing from the climb while Witko's Gawtrybe huffed and puffed nearly as much, since stair-climbing muscles were not the ones most commonly used for their arboreal excursions. Only Dawton's otters, with their sleek river-swimming physiques, seemed undaunted by the exertion of the laborious ascent - them, and of course Urthblood himself, who completed the task with his typical unflappable air of invulnerability. Before them lay a very short expanse of the plateau - little more than a paces-long extension of the top step of that formidable natural staircase - upon which rested the lip of the lowered drawbridge. Out upon that span now strode additional otters, these flashing the purple and orange dress uniforms of the Royal Court.

"Uh oh," Abellon breathed between gasps. "This looks like a real no-nonsense bunch. Are we in trouble?"

"Not so much trouble, as Thrubble. Stand back, an' let me take care o' this." Dawton strode forward to take up a position on the drawbridge, meeting the advancing palace otters, who stopped with just a few paces separating them. Their leader, a stern and formidable waterbeast, stood glowering at his simply-adorned woodlander counterpart with exaggerated animosity.

"'ey! What'd I tell you muckrudders 'bout draggin' yoreselves 'cross our fine threshold 'ere, an' stinkin' up th' place? Best begone with ye, 'fore King Fael catches glimpse of ye an' has his appetite spoilt!"

"Lissen up, ya pampered, pompous, pretentious palace puppy, we ain't goin' nowhere while yore hideous mug's givin' me 'n' me friends th' night frights! Now stand aside an' let us pass, 'fore I tip ye inta this moat!"

"Couldn't tip yore ol' grandmum off o' her kitchen stool, y' lightweight riverwuss!"

"Just try me, y' stuffed chumswiller!"

"Yore on, streamswabbler!"

The two otters charged each other ferociously, while Alex and Abellon and Witko tensed to see how this clash between otter commanders would play out, right under the shadow of the castle gate - a development none would have guessed at mere moments before.

And then the two antagonists were clenched in a shared embrace of backslapping and arm-pounding good cheer, their blustery challenges giving way to hearty laughter.

"Thrubble Thern, you stodgy old gatekeep! They've got you dressed up extra fancy in yore play-soldier outfit today! One might almost mistake ye for a real palace guard!"

"Long time no see, Daws, ye scrappy riverchief!" Thrubble joked back. "Only been, what, five days since last ye was 'ere?"

"Six, by my reck'nin', matey. Lotsa business 's got me comin' an' goin' from Floret these days, as well y' know."

"Aye, that I do." Thrubble looked past Dawton at the Badger Lord and his entourage. "An' by the look of it, ye've brought us a whole new kind o' business this day. We saw you comin' up th' steps, an' King Fael figgered he'd best have us come out t' greet you in formal style."

"But not th' King or Queen themselves, huh?" Dawton gave a shrug. "S'pose they're too busy with Liberation Day preparations to be spared, so only makes sense … or did we miss it already?"

"Yore in luck, just so happens," Thrubble informed them with a beaming grin. "Pageant's not 'til th' morrow, so time t' get you all greeted an' settled in, then a good night's rest, an' then the show. An' His Majesty's gonna have some special appearances in this year's produckshun, so that should be, eh, a treat. Um, I'm judgin' by this lot's grim look that they ain't partikkular squeamish, are they?"

"Uh, wouldn't hazard so, since most appear t' be warriors of one stripe or another - tho' yore words have me wond'rin' what His Majesty's got up 'is sleeve fer this year's presentation. Here, lemme make the introductions." Leading Thrubble and the other curious palace otters over to the badger's delegation, Dawton said, "This here's Lord Urthblood of Salamandastron by th' sea, who's come t' speak with King Fael 'bout the kind o' important things such creatures talk about. These twenty squirrels are his too, along with all these mice. An' this odd-squirrel-out here is Alexander o' Redwall, travellin' with 'em at their mutual suff'rance. Gather he's got a word or three fer His Majesty of his own, tho' can't rightly say what they might be. Either way, looks like Fael's set t' get a real earful from this bunch!"

"So it seems. Welcome to Castle Floret, Lord … an' you too, Redwall friend. Funny, you comin' here now of all times."

"So I keep hearing," Alex said. "And I'm still not sure what everybeast means by it."

"Oh ho, ye'll find out soon 'nuff, ye will! But fer now, let's get you pawsore wanderers inside and settled, so we c'n give you some proper rest an' an equally proper royal welcome! Come along, come along, an' you can check all yore weapons just across th' bridge!"

"We will be asked to surrender our arms?" Urthblood asked.

"Why, shore. Ye'll not need 'em inside Floret, Lord. Case ye ain't've noticed, we've got a nice armed otter guard here t' take care o' any trouble that breaks out, not that we're expectin' any. An' ye've not even been introduced to any o' Cap'n Tesque's bushtailed battlers - wager them an' yore squirrels'll get along just fine, long as they avoid any professional jealousy. Trust me, we've enuff security here t' keep you nice 'n' secure. Ye'll not have a worry in th' world, long as yore our guests here!"

"Thrubbs is right," Dawton affirmed. "Never sleep quite so well as when I'm layin' over at Floret, in nice soft beds and stone walls all around, an' the palace guard standin' their watches day an' night." The otter Skipper spared a worried glance to the southwest, toward his home woods and the sea glittering faintly beyond. "Especially these days."

Abellon gave a hmph. "Wonder if they'll be as soft as Redwall beds. After that climb, I'm half-tempted to skip dinner an' formalities both and ask to be shown right to our guest chambers."

Alex shot the mouse captain a mild glare of impropriety over a non-Abbeybeast cracking such a comment when an actual Redwaller stood right alongside him, but held his tongue, not wishing to appear excessively argumentative in front of Dawton and Thrubble. Now that they were at Floret, he knew he would have to pick his battles - and his moments - most judiciously if he were to have any hope of making diplomatic inroads with the Squirrel King and his court.

And so the contingent from Salamandastron followed their otter guides and hosts across the heavy bridge and over the crescent moat into the castle to see how their competing expedition would unfold.


	27. Chapter XXVI

**XXVI.**

 **NORTHERN MOSSFLOWER**

Jaffox returned to Krayne's valley a conquering hero - at least in his own eyes.

By the time they were done with their regional sweep, nearly threescore rat prisoners were handed off to a detachment of Choock's shrews north of the ford where the main road crossed the River Moss, and those ill-fated rodents were now being conducted westward to join all the rest of their species on their way to the coastlands, and thence to the Searat Empire.

Bryn raised his eyebrows when Jaffox announced his intention to return to the valley. "Thoughtja said we'd be movin' on to the woods 'n' plains on the other side o' th' road, take care o' th' rats who're there next."

"Oh, we will, we will, don't you worry 'bout that. All in good time. They ain't goin' nowhere - least not 'til I _say_ they're goin'. Just hope that liddle prisoner caravan we saw off just now doesn't tip off th' locals to what's in store fer 'em, but I'm countin' on our shrew friends to be discreet in their travels, an' our birds to guide 'em clear of any rat populations. Oh, an' another thing: What you pulled back there at the battle scene, havin' some o' yer beasts stay behind fer burial duty … those weren't my orders. Don't do that again."

"Bogdan was an officer … an' those others were our mates."

"What part of 'don't do that again' don't you unnerstand?"

"Um … aye, sir."

"An' as fer yer old home valley, got a bit o' business there, an' mebbe at Foxguard too, 'fore I resume our cleansing campaign. Goin' well, all things considered. Yer weasels an' ferrets an' foxes 're acquittin' themselves satisfactorily - which is to say they ain't muckin' it up too bad fer me 'n' the Gawtrybe - so figgered you lot'd earned a spell of rest an' relaxation. Then again, you 'n' the other commanders might wanna join me if I do go on to Foxguard; ye're part o' Lord Urthblood's army now, so ye'll be free to come an' go at that place as y' please. Only proper that I properly introduce you to Sword Tolar, so he an' his pretty foxes don't lop yer heads off by mistake if'n y' ever show up there without me."

"Uh, nice, thanks. Ain'tcher 'fraid of 'em ever mistakin' _you_ fer vermin an' choppin' yer heads off?"

"Hah. Like to see 'em try, friend. Like to see 'em try."

After their raiding party filed its way back down into the valley - with Sergeant Collijack's Gawtrybe staying on the high ridge walls in defensive deployment - Jaffox returned to the main tent formerly occupied by Krayne (and, more recently, the now-demoted Bryn) and ordered Joska be brought before him. The vixen appeared a short time later, submissively entering the tent with uncertain pawsteps. Jaffox regarded her with a markedly improved temperament in contrast to their previous encounter.

"Ah, ye're lookin' like a real fox fit to bear that name - an' a real vixen too. Without that hideous soot 'n' ash spoilin' yer features in that prepos'trous false seer's mask, y' actshully don't look that bad, truth be told. I c'n think of far easier an' surer ways of risin' in the ranks than that silly mumbo jumbo you were layin' on so thick."

"I'm not a military beast, sir," Joska replied, keeping her manner totally subservient and respectful; word had already reached her of Jaffox's berserker episode during the just-concluded campaign, and she cared to risk no chance of setting him off on another murderous rampage, with her in his blood-seeking sights. "I'm not int'rested in rising in any ranks."

"Cut the dung, vixen. You know what I mean. Under yer old horde leader, you kept up yer influence by playin' prophet, an' mebbe they even bought into it, or at least a liddle, elsewise ye'd not still be here. Well, that ain't gonna hold any water with me. If you wanna keep up yer influence, you'll hafta find other ways of doin' it." Jaffox looked her up and down, apparently approving of what met his eye. "Still in yer child-bearing seasons, ain'tcher? Fact, I'd say y' got quite a few to go 'fore y' dry up an' go barren."

"I'm not interested in having kits, Lord."

"Don't 'Lord' me, vixen. Only one Lord in yer life now, an' yers is the same as mine."

"Yes, uh, sir."

"Better. Now, my point was, you ain't half the old crone you were pretendin' to be under that grotesque disguise. That's yer gift now, an' I suggest you use it. Tell me, how many other vixens are there in this valley?"

"My two younger sisters, Iskra and Imara … "

"Don't mean just yer kin. How many y' got here that a dogfox in 'is prime might be willin' t' take as a bedmate? Total."

"Well, some are already mated to foxes in Snosso's company … "

"Mebbe they'll stay that way, mebbe they won't. How many?"

"'Tween a score an' a score an' a half, I'd guess. Never really took a count."

"Hmm. Not as many as I'd hoped, but I guess it'll do. They'll be goin' with us t' Foxguard."

"To … the red tower?"

"That's the place. They've had but one vixen there the entire time since that fortress went up, an' it's led to some … frustrations, as I'm sure y' can 'magine. 'Specially since their high 'n' mighty Sword snapped her up fer 'imself, an' hasn't been keen about sharin'. You lot'll be a sight fer sore eyes an' lonely hearts if ever there was one."

"What if some of us don't want to go?"

"I can't berlieve you jus' said that."

Joska gulped. They would be going. Yes, they would be going, and woe to any vixen in this valley who thought to voice an objection.

"When … will we be leaving, sir? In the morning?"

Jaffox grinned. "Aye, in the morning. But before we do, I'll need one more thing from you."

"Yes?"

"The names of any dogfoxes in this liddle horde o' yers who you think might raise a fuss over havin' their mates, ah, 're-appropriated' fer th' greater good." Jaffox drew his pitted, battle-proven blade, testing its edge with one paw. "Might hafta have a word with 'em, make 'em see things my way."

 **THE _REDFOAM_**

By late afternoon, the dreadnought _Skyburn_ had overtaken the _Redfoam_ … partly because the galleon's rebel crew had allowed her to. And it was clear that the captain of the mighty warship wished to confer with his counterpart on the smaller vessel he'd chased down.

Under the joint direction of Cordato, Potdar and Latura - who knew more of such things than any simpleton ratmaid of the inner lands could possibly know - they'd made all the preparations they could, starting with the exchange of their grubby, shabby slaves' garments for those of the slain crew, so that every rat currently abovedecks might appear a proper sailor of the Royal Navy, at least from a distance, lest the _Skyburn_ 's captain be examining them through his own long glass. But that was just the start of it; if they wished to emerge from this encounter with their lives, they knew only one ship would be sailing on from this spot, and upon such did their desperate gambit hinge.

Potdar turned his fourteenth anxious glance of the waning afternoon upon Cordato as the dinghy was lowered into the water lapping around the _Redfoam_ 's hull. "Y' sure this's gonna work?"

"Course I ain't sure. How c'n any of us be sure o' such a crazy scheme? But it's the only card we've got t' play, so play it we will."

"What if they s'pect? What if they see through our ruse?"

"I'm sure they will - but hopefully not 'til th' very end, when it's too late fer 'em t' do anything about it. Lattie's given us at least that much … a way t' pull this off that might save all our necks, at least fer another day. But I know a thing or three 'bout searat customs, an' they'll be expectin' Trangle t' row over to them, an' not the other way 'round. That's protocol - cap'n of the smaller ship allers goes to th' bigger one. An' that'll work in our favor now."

"Yah. Our favor." Potdar turned to Spratley alongside him at the ship's railing; the big rat had taken a turn for the worse, his belly wound declared untreatable by Zarephath as the fever of infection wracked and ravaged his body. Even now Spratley could only stand upright with the support of an attendant rat at either arm, and it clearly required all his wavering concentration to pay any attention whatsoever to what was going on around him. The bandages covering his almost certainly-mortal wound now lay hid beneath Trangle's ostentatious dress jacket, which fit Spratley so snugly that two of the buttons had to remain unfastened, and Trangle's instantly-identifiable tricorn hat sat atop Spratley's head. From any distance, the former slave would appear indistinguishable from the murdered captain whose part he would be playing now.

"Ya sure 'bout this, Sprats ol' chum?" Potdar asked his longtime partner.

"Aye … sure," Spratley answered weakly. "I'm on th' way out … c'n feel it … prob'ly be dead by day's end anyways, even if … t'were still layin' abed below. Least this way I'll be o' some use t' ev'ryrat else … if I c'n keep from keelin' over 'fore we get this done."

"Don't worry - once we get ya down in that rowboat, all y' gotta do is stay seated upright 'til y' get across t' that big ship, an' Tarny here'll do th' rest." Potdar's gaze went from Spratley to Tarnise. "Are y' sure _ye're_ up fer this? That's a lotta rowin' t' do."

"Spent days as an oarslave, 'member?"

"Aye - after th' first mate was gonna chuck you overboard fer bein' too scrawny t' pull yer weight. This's vital now. You volunteered, so y' gotta be able t' finish th' job, or else we're all sunk."

"I'll finish it, a'right. Lemme get my two paws 'round those oars down there, an' I'll imagine with ev'ry stroke they're searat necks I'm a-throttlin'. They chucked my babe overboard inta th' brine. If we c'n do now what Lattie sez, just let anybeast try'n stop me!"

Encouraged by the bereft ratmum's display of determination, Potdar turned back to Cordato. "Okay, guess it's time t' do this, ain't it?"

"Aye, time an' then some. If we wait any longer, that cap'n an' crew's gonna get antsy, an' start wond'rin' what's takin' so long. Down y' go, now!"

Spratley, far too weak and uncoordinated to climb down the rope ladder under his own power, was lowered down to the dinghy by a line looped around his paws to hold him fast and keep him from falling into the water; hopefully to those watching from the _Skyburn_ it would look like Trangle had merely ordered his crew to lower him as a convenience rather than a necessity, and physical infirmity would be mistaken for pompous laziness. Tarnise, having descended to the rowboat ahead of Spratley, loosened him from his ropes as unobtrusively as she could so as to hide his helplessness and got him seated firmly upright on his bench, again striving to make it appear she was fussing over him out of deference to his rank and not because he literally could not have sat up straight on his own.

Spratley gripped the sides of the dinghy with both weak paws to keep himself from falling over or slumping forward. "Best get t' rowin', Tarny. Feels like I'm fadin' … it'll be all I c'n do jus' t' make it 'cross't … "

So Tarnise got to rowing, digging into the gentle swells with her oars blades with all the strength she could muster and bearing them away toward the dreadnought while the anxious crew of the _Redfoam_ looked on from above with collectively-held breath.

"Here goes nuthin'," Cordato muttered.

"Let's hope it's _sumpthin'_ ," Potdar added, "an' that it works."

"It works," Latura stated matter-of-factly from alongside them. "Powder goes boom, 'member?"

Across on the _Skyburn_ the dreadnought's captain, Koncurat by name, stood watching the rowboat's approach almost as raptly as the rebels monitored its departure from the Redfoam. Koncurat chuckled with derisive glee as the dinghy neared, and the male rat in the hallmark dress jacket and tricorn hat seemed to have trouble holding himself at the proper attitude of attentiveness. "Harr! Looks like ol' Trangs may've been tyin' one on last night! That's as shaky an' bleary as I e're seen 'im!"

Koncurat and his crew didn't even notice that the rat in the borrowed searat tunic rowing the dinghy their way was a female, perhaps mistaking Tarnise for a cabin boy as all their attention remained on the floundering pretend-Trangle … which meant that they certainly did notice when the rat adorned with jacket and hat did in fact pitch forward in his seat, his head falling into the oarsrat's lap.

"Whoo hoo hoo!" Koncurat guffawed, slapping the rail with his paw. "Trangle musta been hittin' the grog last night like nuthin' ever seen! S'prised he was even coherent 'nuff t' get in that rowboat t'all! No wonder they hadta lower 'im!"

His first mate sniggered. "Aye, an' that ain't too dignerfied a pose 'ee's strikin' now, harr harr!"

Out in the dinghy, Tarnise heard what Koncurat and his crew could not: Spratley's death rattle as the ailing rat pitched forward, his last tortured breath escaping his throat. But the vengeance-minded ratmum didn't even pause to remove her deceased companion's head from between her legs, pushing on with singleminded, implacable, terrible purpose. This was her mission now - in a way, it always had been - and she would carry it out to the very end, as long as any life and will remained in her.

And on she rowed, oars churning the waters to either side of her more furiously than ever.

"'ey, they're comin' in off course!' the first mate remarked, once it became obvious that the dinghy was headed not toward the boarding spot amidships where Koncurat and his crew had assembled to receive the visiting captain of the _Redfoam_ , but farther back toward the stern, where norat waited and no easy boarding was to be found.

Koncurat scowled. "That cabin lad must be nearly as drunk as Trangle 'imself. 'ey, bogglebrain, we're over 'ere! Straighten yer course, or ye'll bump up where y' won't be able t' climb aboard!"

Tarnise neither acknowledged the hail nor altered her course. Her only thought was to get where she had to go and reach her goal before these searats saw through her masquerade and moved to stop her. With her limited rower's experience and sea skills, it would be all she could do just to bring herself in reasonably close to the spot Latura had instructed her to aim for.

The rebels lined up along the railing of the _Redfoam_ saw Tarnise making for exactly that spot. Latura, seeing the dinghy's target nearly attained, said to her companions, "Um, think we're gonna wanna duck down now … "

The tiny prow of the rowboat thunked up against the massive hull of the _Skyburn_ towering over it. Judging she had delivered her cargo as close as she was going to get, Tarnise shipped her oars and turned around in her seat, gently removing Spratley's head from her lap. Voices called down to her now from the deck high above, as some of the crew raced over to where she'd butted up against the wide flanks of the dreadnought, the scurrying deckpaws still assuming their visitors meant to come aboard.

Tarnise had noted the mighty warship's name painted proudly on her prow, and now murmured to herself, "Let's see if we can't make y' live up to that, eh?" Throwing aside the canvas which had covered the five kegs of stormpowder packed into the front of the dinghy, Tarnise took the pre-lit lamp she'd boarded with and lifted the glass bulb, careful to shield the now-exposed flame from the sea breezes with her paw as she lit the fuse.

"Hey, whaddya doin' down there? Why ain'tcher movin' t' where our boardin' ropes are? An' what's with yer cap'n? Is 'ee a'right?"

The fuse caught, sparking its way toward explosive oblivion.

Realizing her purpose here was fulfilled and nothing else now remained for her to do, Tarnise stood in the bobbing rowboat, Spratley's slumped and lifeless form beside her, and raised her paw to her brow in a mock salute to the searats above. With her figure fully exposed like this for the first time, some of the more astute onlookers gazing down from the _Skyburn_ noticed something about her that they'd not noticed before.

"Hey, is that … is that a female?"

"Don't be daft! Tratton don't allow females in 'is crews - it'd cause too much awkwardness. Tho', I gotta say, that cabin whelp does look kinda fem'nine … an' what's that smokin' an' sparkin' comin' from down there in 'is - "

The speculating searat never got to finish his thought, or anything else.

Latura, possessing a knowledge beyond even what Cordato and his fellow searats knew of recent configurations in the Royal Fleet, had been able to advise Tarnise on precisely which spot along the dreadnought's hull to aim for. Now, even though the stormpowder magazine may have been reinforced by steel plating and fire-resistant treated wood to help safeguard it against an attack from Urthblood's gulls, those precautions did little to protect it from the simultaneous detonation of five powder casks tucked right up against the exact spot on the outer hull where wood and steel would be mangled sufficiently to allow one blast to ignite another.

The two explosions came in quick succession, the first demolishing the peaceful calm of the open sea and annihilating Tarnise and her dead companion Spratley, the second coming like the toll of the world's end as the main stormpowder compartment caught and blew. As was the tendency for such ill-fated dreadnoughts, the blast split the mighty vessel almost cleanly in two, lifting the sundered ship up from the middle and sending her topside crew flying through the air and spilling them into the ocean.

The monumental release of so much energy at once hit the _Redfoam_ broadside, rocking the entire craft over at a forty-five degree angle where she hung in the balance for many moments, poised between capsizing and righting herself again. Cordato and Potdar and Latura and all the others, warned by the prophetic ratmaid's caution, pressed themselves to the tilted deck as shivered timbers and debris and more than a few rat parts flew over their heads and battered against the partly-upended hull of the _Redfoam_. Then, as if deciding not to cast off her crew, the galleon slowly, gradually righted herself, rendering her decks level once more.

Cautiously, first Cordato then Potdar and the others pulled themselves to their footpaws along the railing, fully taking in the spectacle of the larger ship's ruin. The forward two-thirds of the _Skyburn_ and the aft one-third now lay upon the surface of the sea in two distinct pieces, the twin sections shattered and smoldering and not long for this world. By some miracle, many of the crew on the larger forward section had survived and avoided being pitched into the water, and now swarmed the canted top deck of their doomed naval home, shouting and crying and racing about in a panic, or just clinging onto anything they could find for dear life. They knew, even if some refused to accept, that no salvation lay open to them now.

Cordato also shared that certainty, yet continued to look on with concern. "They're goin' down … ain't no way they're not. An' we're too far across from 'em fer any t' swim that distance easily. Some might survive fer a little bit if they find some wreckage t' cling to, but otherwise we may've just gotten outta this with no witnesses t' what we done. Let's just hope none of 'em 're able t' make it to whatever steel submersible th' _Skyburn_ was carryin' - that's my biggest worry now." He turned to Latura. "Well, Lattie, y' told us t' sink a dreadnought, an' now we've gone an' sunk ourselves a dreadnought. This's a blow to Tratton he'll not be able t' ignore. If even one rat from th' _Skyburn_ 's crew survives t' report t'was us who sunk 'er, we'll be hounded an' hunted to the ends of th' seas, by the entire Fleet. Not sure even goin' north an' west like I had in mind would be enuff t' save us. Our only hope's that no other ship o' the Fleet comes along 'fore the sea claims all survivors here, leavin' none t' tell th' tale or name th' _Redfoam_ as the culprit."

"So what do we do now?" asked Potdar. "Pick off any floatin' seavermin after th' main wreck goes down, make sure there's none left to wag their tongues?"

"Not even gonna bother. Lots of 'em look to be wounded, an' there's bodies 'n' bits in the water too. Sharks'll take care of 'em, jus' like before when we got rid o' th' crew of the _Redfoam_ too. I just wanna be gone from this place fast as we can. Our best hope's in speed now, an' puttin' distance 'tween ourselves an' the rest of the Fleet. That ruse worked once, an' I don't think we can count on it workin' a second time if we run inta another of Tratton's ships. 'Specially now that we an't got Trangle's coat 'n' hat fer somerat t' play his part again, even if we could find more volunteers willin' t' blow themselves to oblivion to save th' rest of us."

"We c'n still fight back," Latura muttered from over Cordato's shoulder, looking on with seeming detachment at the carnage her idea had unleashed.

The searat stared at her with a mix of impatient ire and disbelief. "An' how're we s'posed t' do that, Lattie? Why'd we even wanna try?"

"They'll come after us, catch us. Gotta go east, an' south, t' find what we need."

"South an' east? That'd take us right back inta th' heart o' Tratton's realm! They'll find us fer sure if we do that, an' then we'll be done fer!"

"Not if we get there first."

"Get where?"

Latura held up one paw, palm down, and thrust it out in front of her like she was pantomiming a bird taking flight. "Fwoom! Kaboom!"

"Kaboom? You mean we'll be usin' more of our stormpowder? Launchin' it with our catapult?"

"Um, no. Won't hafta. Not once we find it."

"Find what?"

Latura gazed out toward the floundering wreckage of the _Skyburn_ and the screaming, despairing souls vainly refusing to abandon her. "Shipkiller. Gotta find th' shipkiller."


	28. Chapter XXVII

**XXVII.**

 **CASTLE FLORET**

When Alexander and his travelling companions were first shown into Floret, the experience was much like the Redwaller would have imagined. Thrubble Thern's otter guard held the drawbridge antechamber in their fine ceremonial battle dress, both a fitting welcoming committee for visitors ordinary and esteemed, and a formidable deterrent for any foe of ill intent who sought to fight or beguile its way into the castle. And while those waterbeasts showed their easygoing side now even as they cheerily disarmed Urthblood's company, Alex doubted for not a moment that had the badger's party appeared at Floret's gates alone and unbidden, their reception might have been very different from what it was now … and they might not have gotten to see the inside of the palace at all.

The entry hall past the drawbridge boasted a magnificence to match the castle's exterior, with smoothly-polished, multihued tile underpaw, cream-colored walls with rosy sandstone accents, and graceful arches curving high overhead. Wide, sweeping staircases wound upward at either paw, avenues for aristocratic ascent to the upper floors or for additional defenders to swarm down should the Royal Court ever be seriously threatened. Festive flags and pennants competed with ornate hangings and tapestries; while Alex guessed that the former had been put in place for the holiday Dawton had spoken of, he suspected the latter represented a more permanent, year-round display of extravagance.

At the end of the hall they were met by more the type of creatures Alex had expected to see here: a formal line of his fellow red-furred squirrels, all outfitted in dress uniforms no less fine than those of Thern's otter guard. Before the attentive treebeasts, however, stood not one of their own but a much smaller figure, garbed in a sharp black jacket over a purple shirt which marked him as a Court official rather than any military beast.

That vole stepped forward now, executing a full low bow to Urthblood. "Greetings, o great and powerful Lord. Sheldeen Voley, King Fael's appointment secretary, at your humble beck and service. I take it you seek an audience with His Royal Highness?"

"That would be the idea, good Sheldeen. I am Lord Urthblood of Salamandastron, and I have matters of great import to discuss with your King."

"Yes, yes, of course. And you may just be in luck, if it be your wish to speak with him at once, since your lodgings are still being prepared, and the King and Queen are gathering even now to take their evening meal in the Grand Hall with all their other guests. Most of the visitors for tomorrow's Liberation Day observances have already arrived from all over Southsward, and with so many honored guests under our roof, every mealtime for the next two days will be a public event! Any important diplomatic or military discussions of depth may need to wait until after the festival concludes, but you should be able to share at least a few words with His Majesty in the meantime. Come along, and I will show you to this evening's banquet!"

Thrubble turned to Dawton. "This's where I leave you, old friend. Gotta stay at my post, an' that's seein' to bridge an' moat. Enjoy yore vittles with the King - he's rolled out some good ones fer the occasion, ye can be shore o' that! Wish I could be there with you tuckin' in m'self, but duty first for us gate-minders!"

As Sheldeen and the palace squirrels took over the escort duties from Thern, marshalling Urthblood's company and Dawton's otters farther along into the heart of Floret, the badger said to the secretary vole, "If His Majesty is unable to give his full attention at the moment to my own agenda, perhaps in the meantime I may meet with others who might be able to assist me in my purpose, or else shed light upon matters and events pertinent to my mission here? Military advisors, ministers of state affairs … oh, and perhaps representatives of the searat delegation I am given to understand came to visit you earlier this season, and have yet to return to their ships along the coast."

Dawton shot the badger a warning glance, which Urthblood chose to disregard. Sheldeen favored the red-armored warrior with something more of apprehension, underscoring Dawton's look that this was a line of inquiry best not pursued.

"Ah, yes, er, I suppose you would have heard about them, wouldn't you? This is something you'd need to discuss with King Fael. It's really not my place to speculate on such affairs."

"Are the searats still here at Floret?"

Voley's discomfiture seemed to deepen. "Again, you will need to address this to King Fael - although ideally, perhaps not tonight, and perhaps not until after the festival concludes. I am just his appointment secretary, after all."

"And when does the festival conclude?"

"Well, tomorrow is the pageant presentation, and then will come the final night of feasting and merriment. That often carries on straight through 'til dawn, after which the celebrants retire for some much-needed recuperative rest. That's also the day most of the guests leave Floret to return to their various homes throughout Southsward, although some don't make their farewells until well into the afternoon or evening, and a few of the heartiest and most spirited might even hold off their departures until the following day. So, the day after the day after tomorrow should see the festival fully wound down. More or less."

"More or less," Dawton affirmed. "Summertime jubilees at Floret have a tendency to take on lives of their own."

"That they do, that they most certainly do," Sheldeen chuckled knowingly as their group halted before a tall, wide double door. "Ah, here we are. Now, how shall I announce you, Lord?"

"Announce me?"

"Of course. We've had chieftains and gentry from all over the southern lands converging on Floret for this occasion, and each gets accorded their proper introduction upon being ushered into Their Majesty's presence. How shall I instruct our court herald Nicholson to announce you to the court?"

"The title I gave you already will suffice."

"No additions or embellishments? That seems a bit … terse. Many of our visiting dignitaries carry multiple titles - sometimes a dozen or more."

"That is their affair. I carry only one, and it is all I need."

"As you say, Lord." Sheldeen shot a look Dawton's way. "And I know you favor a similarly sparse title, Skipper. King Fael will be happy to see you've made it after all. On your last visit, you indicated you likely wouldn't."

Dawton glanced at Urthblood. "Didn't reckon at the time that a Badger Lord was gonna fall into my lap - an' one headin' to Floret, for that matter."

"Ah, yes, of course. And I'm sure he appreciated the escort you provided, particularly in light of certain other, ah, recent happenings. Although by the look of his company, I would say they'd be quite capable of dealing with any such trouble on their own."

"Yes," said Urthblood, "Skipper Dawton has alluded to something being seriously amiss in Southsward as of late, of some dire threat or menace abroad in the lands. Perhaps you can shed some light on this mystery, good Sheldeen?"

"Not my place, not my place, Lord. Such weighty matters shall have to wait until you can discuss them directly with His Majesty. So, are there any other personages here I ought to grant separate introductions of their own?"

Alex stepped forward. "Alexander of Redwall. Chief of the Mossflower Patrol, if you must have a title, although I usually do without."

Voley's face lit up. A Redwaller?! Here among us for Liberation Day? Oh, how fortuitously splendid! Splendid splendid splendid! This will truly make His Majesty's day! How very fitting indeed!"

Alex practically scowled at Sheldeen's rampant obsequiousness. "Yes, Skipper Dawton here hinted that having a Redwaller present at this time would hold some special significance. I'm curious as to just why that would be. Perhaps you could clarify this for me?"

Sheldeen seemed astounded that Alex didn't already know. "Why, it's the pageant play itself, of course. Why do you think we call this festival Liberation Day?"

"I … really don't know."

Voley puffed out his tiny chest. "This is when we observe the defeat of the Urgan Nargu by His Majesty's illustrious forebear Gael the Squirrelking, with the help of allies from Redwall!"

Understanding lit Alexander's features. "Oh, yes! Of course! I should have known, since that was the only connection between Redwall and Southsward I was aware of. But it was so long ago … generations and generations. You truly still celebrate it?"

"Indeed we do! The shining moment of woodlander triumph, and the victory of goodbeast over vermin! A true landmark event in the history of Southsward, if not for which these lands might have been cast into darkness and tyranny for seasons uncounted! That is why, every midsummer, we stage a re-enactment of those times, to remind ourselves of the glory of the greatest of all Squirrelkings, and the debt we owe to those brave resistance forces who banished fear and cruelty from Southsward forever!"

"Then we have arrived at a truly opportune time indeed," Urthblood intoned. "And while I might wish to have my own concerns addressed in a more prompt fashion, I appreciate the significance of these observances, and look forward to witnessing them myself."

"Fine, fine! Then everybeast will be satisfied! I do so delight when things work out thus - it makes my job _so_ much easier! So, that's a Lord, a Skipper and a Chieftain to declare. Let us proceed, let us proceed!"

Two of the castle squirrels leaned their shoulders against the giant double doors, swinging them wide to reveal the banquet hall … and the banquet already looked to be fully underway, in spite of the earliness of the evening. In a chamber nearly grand and spacious enough to rival Great Hall but far more ostentatiously opulent, tables had been set up and dressed with highly decorative cloths, on top of which had been laid out the makings of a not-so-minor feast. Nearly every table was fully occupied, with diners of every species - mice, moles, hedgehogs, hares, otters, squirrels and even a badger or two - tucked up to their places and tucking in with carefree gusto. A separate long table sat upon a raised dais against the far wall, and though the chairs there remained vacant for the moment, the throne holding the center position left no doubt that this was where the high royalty of Floret would dine when the time came.

A cape-bedecked badger, a full head shorter than Urthblood but still the single most imposing creature in the hall, stood attentively just inside the doorway, turning his head to see who needed introducing now. His eyebrows went up at the sight of the red-armored Lord, then went back down again, indicating that almost anything was likely to pass through this portal on Liberation Day.

Sheldeen Voley approached the doorbadger, who bowed low so the vole could whisper in his ear. A few of the diners gazed toward the newcomers, but most pointedly ignored them; apparently, one was not anybeast in this assemblage until one's name and station had been official declared.

Taking Sheldeen's appraisal, the badger herald straightened and drew a deep breath, then came out with a bellowing announcement that forced Alex to flatten his tufted ears.

"Ladies and gentlebeasts and guests of the Royal Court! Lord Urthblood of Salamandastron! Skipper Dawton of Holt Bluesnake! And Alexander of Redwall, Chieftain of the Mossflower Patrol!"

Immediately, half the beasts in the banquet hall were up on their footpaws, some cheering and applauding but all eagerly looking toward the entryway with curious welcome.

"Good job, Nick, as always," Voley commended Nicholson.

Alex was somewhat confused. "Um, what was the point in announcing us so grandly when the King and Queen weren't even on paw to hear it?"

"Oh, protocol, custom, formality," Voley replied airily. "It's simply … done, you know."

"Don't ever come between a courtier an' his pomp!" Dawton teased with a wink.

"Now then, let's get you seated, shall we? In anticipation of you joining us here, we made sure to reserve a table for you." Sheldeen glanced over the newly-arrived company with a trace of regretful concern. "Um, not for _all_ of you, I'm sad to say. All you mice and squirrels and otters would fill up a fair portion of our fair hall just by yourselves, and as you can see, we're fairly well crowded with guests and visitors already. Lord, perhaps you'd care to select the half-dozen or so you'd like to join you? The rest will have to eat down in the general mess with the castle guards and off-duty court attendants."

Dawton took over on behalf of all their company. "We know that drill well, Sheldeen. Bludder, you know the way down to the mess hall. I'll leave it to you to show everybeast the way. We'll send for you if we need anything." Turning to Urthblood, the otter Skipper said, "Pick who you'll be keeping here to dine with you and the King, Lord, and then the rest can be on their way with my otters."

"Captain Abellon and Sergeant Witko should suffice, along with yourself, Skipper."

"And Chieftain Alexander, of course," Sheldeen hastened to add, upon realizing the badger's omission.

Urthblood looked to the vole. "Alexander is not under my command. I do not speak for him. If he stays too, that is between you and him."

Alex, still growing accustomed to his newly-attached title of "chieftain," said to Voley, "Of course I'll stay. As Redwall's sole representative here, how can I not?"

"Splendid, splendid! Come along then, my good beasts, and I'll show you to your table while our helpful Bludder sees to all the rest. Right this way, right this way!"

Threading their way through the crowded chamber, the six creatures ended up at a smaller table along one wall which nevertheless had enough empty seats that it could easily have accommodated twice their number. Urthblood helped himself to the oversized chair which had obviously been set out for him, while Alex, Abellon, Witko and Dawton took smaller seats for themselves in no particular order, the Redwall squirrel placing himself slightly apart from the others for both symbolic and logistical reasons; if opportunity arose to speak with King Fael, he wanted to be able to take his fellow squirrel aside without being verbally rolled over by Urthblood and the Northlanders.

Voley rubbed his paws together in satisfaction. "All settled in? Wonderful! Perfect! Now sadly I must be leaving you - His Majesty always has me tending to five things at once, or so it seems - but others will be along presently to see to all your needs, so no worries on that score. As honored guests of the Royal Court, you'll be well tended. Until we meet again!" Sheldeen gave a bow and scuttled away, as obsequious in departure as in greeting.

Alex caught Urthblood saying to his two underlings, "I am less than thrilled about being separated from the bulk of my forces like this. If trouble should break out, this will make it more difficult for us to rally our full numbers."

"You think King Fael did that intentionally?" Abellon asked.

"Naturally, and for the same reason we were relieved of our weapons inside the drawbridge. Separating the leaders from their followers is no less a form of disarmament, and a sensible measure for any security-minded lord of any keep, leaving the rank-and-file without anybeast to directly command them and the leaders unsupported by partisan forces and wholly at the whim of their hosts. This King Fael shows a canniness in such things that is not to be underestimated. I suspect he may prove a negotiating partner every bit as formidable as Tratton."

"Do you think we should protest, Lord?" asked Witko. "Maybe insist that we all be quartered together after this meal, even if it means we all have to stay in the common barracks?"

Dawton weighed in then, waving a paw to dismiss the Northlanders' concerns. "Rest easy, friends. Unless yore plannin' a full-scale insurrection, you've naught t' fear over any o' this. It's standard Floret procedure - been through it lotsa times with me own holt, an' when visitin' here with other holts as well. Long as you've come in good will an' ain't some devious, black-hearted scoundrel lookin' to do harm, you've naught to worry about."

Alex glanced around the royal hall. "I'm more concerned about where all these creatures are going to be lodged. I gather those I see here aren't anywhere near all the residents and guests currently at Floret?"

Dawton laughed. "Not by half, Alex matey! Not even close to it. But don't you worry about beds; Floret's a castle, after all, an' the seat of power for an entire kingdom. They've got room aplenty fer all of us here, an' room to spare on top of that. Nobeast'll be sleepin' on the floor at Floret, believe you me!'

"Hmm. That will be a welcome change from how things have been at Redwall lately, at least. Maybe we can send some of our creatures down here to ease our overcrowding … although I doubt King Fael would welcome our rats."

"Once my negotiations with His Majesty are concluded," Urthblood said to Alex, "I anticipate such fugitives would find no safe haven here either. Redwall will truly be left standing alone in this regard."

The squirrel shot the badger a smoldering glare. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"The Accord is the Accord. Its provisions must be observed, to spare further strife and bloodshed between us and Tratton."

"Perhaps King Fael won't see it that way. I'm here to make sure he gets our side of the story as well … and maybe once he does, Redwall won't find itself standing alone after all."

"Do not think to challenge me too forcefully in this," Urthblood warned. "I will not tolerate excessive interference in these negotiations; they are too vital. Especially now that we know a menace beyond the searats themselves overshadows these lands."

Alex looked to Dawton. "Yes, what of that? Now that we're here at Floret, can you tell us any more of that mystery?"

"Think I'll leave that to His Majesty. He's got … certain ways of presentin' such information he might wish t' claim for 'imself, an' I'd not wanna steal 'is thunder, hmm?"

Many creatures in the Grand Hall still threw glances the newcomers' way, and a few outright stared in undisguised curiosity and fascination. One squirrel seated up near the royal dais, still unoccupied by the King and his family, detached himself from his immediate retinue and made his way through the crowded tables to join the Redwaller and Northlanders. His dress coat was, if anything, more ornate than Voley's, almost flowery, with airy sleeves and frilly cuffs and lace trim and ostentatious ascot scarf that puffed out from below his throat like a swirling badge of excessive ornamentation. All these elements combined to render him the dandiest of dandies Alex had ever seen.

The court squirrel practically sniffed at Urthblood's imposing yet utilitarian red armor, and spared little attention to Abellon and Witko's austere uniform tunics as well, instead fastening upon the Abbeybeast among them. Coming around to stand first at either side of Alex and then behind him as if conducting a three-point inspection of his fellow squirrel, he finally made his verbal greeting in a most unexpected manner.

"Your tail is _magnificent_."

Dawton snorted. "Nice introduction there, Seff."

The flamboyant squirrel shot Dawton a withering look. "What have I told you about using that vulgar familiarism … Daws?"

The otter grinned. "Aw, you can call me 'Daws' if ya wanna, Seff!"

"Excuse me," Alex cut in, "but who are you again?"

"No again about it, my dear good fellow, since we've only just met." The prim squirrel extended a paw. "Seffner Capellan, King Fael's Royal Furrierre."

"Uh … furrierre?"

"Yes, of course. I tend to the fur of all the Royal family, and all the most esteemed and distinguished members of the Court as well. The proper brushing and grooming, the bathing with only the most pure and balanced shampoo formulas, and all the requisite conditioning and moisturizing and drying techniques as well. Royal pelts don't attain their unparalleled sheen and luster and fullness on their own, you know. Who looks after yours?"

"Me?" Alex still hadn't accepted Capellan's proffered paw. "I … tend to it myself, just as nearly all Redwallers do. And I suppose I give my tail a few reflexive floofs and swirls during the course of each day just to keep it in sorts. It all just … comes naturally, I guess."

Seffner Capellan went agog at this. "Oh, you lucky lucky treedog! To be blessed with such superb, trouble-free fur, that must be marvelous!"

"I … hadn't ever really thought about it that way. It always just seemed to take care of itself." Alex at last took Seffner's paw to shake it, and found it limp and unresponsive in his grasp, forcing himself to hold back on his own automatic, strong bowbeast's clasp. Mina would have positively crushed such a lamely-offered paw greeting, uncaring of social niceties. "But, do the King and his family really need somebeast else to tend to their fur? Can't they just … do it themselves, like we do?"

Capellan drew back, scandalized. "Surely you jest!"

"You must forgive Alexander his lack of courtly sophistication," Urthblood interjected. "Redwall is a far simpler and more humble community than Floret, lacking the trappings of pomp and gilded ceremony. This must all be quite new to him."

Seffner turned his gaze to the mighty badger. "But not to you, Lord?"

"I have treated wth the court of the Gawtrybe and the leaders of Noonvale in the Northlands, with the Searat King Tratton, and with Redwall itself, amongst others. My warrior's ways may strike so cultured a creature as yourself as unrefined, and I suppose in a sense they are when compared to your own manners and customs, but I do know a thing or two about dealing with the holders of power in the lands. Your King may not find my forthright attitude entirely to his liking, but matters of great importance call for such directness. Speaking of which, when might we expect to see His Majesty? I trust he will be joining us before very much longer?"

"Oh, it should be soon, it should be - " A rustle of activity up near the front of the room made Capellan break off and throw his gaze that way, as many of the more knowing diners paused in their feasting to climb to their footpaws. "Ah, it appears you are in luck, Lord! Here come the trumpeters now! It seems King Fael is about to make his entrance!"

"Trumpeters?" Alex echoed.

A line of otter guards adorned with decorated tabards formed at one end of the long Royal dais, raising polished brass horns to their lips. As one they blew a majestic cascade of powerful notes, a fanfare which left many of the guests flattening their ears, shrinking in their seats wincing or lifting paws to their heads to ward off the regal tumult. Abellon's mice and Witko's Gawtrybe joined Alex in covering his ears, although the smaller-eared Urthblood and Dawton didn't seem as phased by the aural assault. All in all, it struck Alex as unnecessary as Nicholson Badger's own announcement of their company's entry into the King-less festival hall.

Concluding their melodious cacophony, the otter heralds lowered their trumpets and stood aside to make room for their sovereign to pass. Nicholson, unnoticed by Alex, had subtly and unobtrusively relocated himself from the main door to the royal entrance alongside the dais, and now puffed out his considerable chest to perform his most esteemed announcements of the evening.

"Ladies and gentlebeasts, honored guests of Floret all! The Royal Princess Temma!"

A school-aged squirrelmaid flounced out of the side door and up onto the dais to cheers and applause, grinning and waving back in her emerald-robed splendor as if this was her favorite game before moving along to seat herself at the chair farthest along the raised table.

"The Royal Princess Jinrae!"

An adolescent squirrelmaid pranced out into view much as Temma had, shamelessly acknowledging her adoration as she too ascended the dais and took her seat alongside her sister, her bright blue dress complementing the vibrant green of her younger sibling's garb.

"The Royal Princess Larubia!"

The final Royal daughter, closer to adulthood than either of the others and outfitted in a scarlet tunic to reflect her gemstone name, paced out into view with a stately composure most at odds with the carefree abandon of her two sisters, stoically climbing up onto the platform and greeting the cheering assemblage with a half-nod and a half-raised paw as she claimed the nearest chair.

"The Royal Prince Justis!"

The sole male heir of King Fael, second-oldest after Larubia, strode out into view trying to present himself as regally assured as his elder sister, but the cocksure smirk that slipped onto his face spoiled the effect; his fine black tunic with azure accents lent him an almost predatory air as he confidently took the second seat alongside Larubia, leaving just the two center chairs between the paired-off siblings yet to be filled. And those much higher-backed, throne-like seats left no doubt as to who would occupy them.

"Her Royal Highness, Queen Saqueena!"

"Queen Saqueena?" Abellon murmured. "Isn't that a bit … redundant?"

"Shhh!" shushed Dawton.

A stunning example of female squirrelhood, or so it seemed to Alex and Witko, promenaded out from the side entryway and past Nicholson, the deep burgundy of her billowy, full-length ball gown offsetting the glowing sheen of her fur, which was strangely light in hue, almost more blonde than the expected red. Now that he looked closer, Alexander realized that all three princesses also displayed a fairer-than-usual luster, each to a varying degree, but on none of them was this bleaching as obvious or pronounced as on their mother.

Saqueena positioned herself in front of the second-highest-backed chair, gave an imperious and aloof wave to her admirers, then settled her tail and voluminous dress into her seat.

"His Royal Highness, King Fael!"

When Fael at last emerged onto his carefully-arranged stage, he was both exactly what Alex had expected, and nothing like it at all. The finery and bearing of his Queen and offspring could easily have led one to assume Fael would follow suit in trailing robes and crown and holding a scepter, inserting himself into the center of the festivities as if every day was his coronation. Instead, the red squirrel - a typical red, not the blonde of his wife and daughters - strutted out into the hall and up onto the platform with a businesslike impatience, as if this was just one more insufferable duty to perform. Adding to this effect was the cut of his maroon jacket, much more of a military-style outfit which might have looked at home on a hare of the Long Patrol. Had Alex run into Fael unintroduced out in the corridors of Floret, the Redwaller might easily have mistaken the King for one of his Court functionaries, or perhaps some member of the palace guard.

Alex wasn't sure what he'd expected to happen in the wake of the Royal family's arrival, but once Fael seated himself and everybeast in the Grand Hall did likewise, things proceeded much as they had before, with interrupted conversations resuming along with the dining, and no royal pronouncements from King or kin.

"Ooo, don't they all look splendid this evening?" Seffner Capellan gushed.

"They do, actually," Alex admitted, noting how the wide variety of garb on display upon the Royal dais - from the ornate and elaborate to the most restrained - each seemed to perfectly reflect and express the personality of its wearer. "Did you dress them?"

Capellan drew back in affront. "My dear sir! I am a furrierre, not a dresser!"

"Each member o' the Royal family's got their own dresser," Dawton helpfully supplied. "But there's only one Court Furrierre. Ain't that right, Seff?"

"Most correct, my good Skipper. Make no mistake, our dressers do a magnificent job, as you can see by what's on display before you, but they are rather … common. A truly skilled and gifted fur-tender, on the other paw … oh, but now I must seem boastful and immodest, mustn't I? That's hardly seemly, is it? Fie on you, Skipper Dawton, for appealing to my base vanity to elicit so improper a peccadillo from me! I … I must be going now …" And with that, Capellan slunk away from their table, abashed at his impropriety.

As one Court functionary withdrew, another reappeared, Sheldeen Voley entering out onto the head dais and proceeding directly to the King. Whispering into Fael's ear with the ease of a trusted confidant, the vole motioned toward the Northlanders' table, and soon Fael's gaze was directed that way as well, a keen interest in his eyes.

"We seem to have his attention now," Urthblood observed.

But if they did, nothing came of it immediately, Fael diverting his gaze back to the creatures closer to paw, bantering with his Queen and son as dinner was brought out and placed before them. Food was also delivered to the newcomers' table, and while Alex and the others were glad to have their hunger sated and their thirst slaked at last after the long day's march, the Redwaller found the fare not entirely to his liking. The dishes struck him as over-prepared, with too many ingredients and flavors mixed together in such a way as to overwhelm the taste. He couldn't even identify what some of the appetizers and entrees were, although when he detected the essence of what could only have been bird meat in one of the courses he sampled, he quickly pushed it aside in disgust.

Fael made a point of not looking their way as the meal proceeded, veiling his initial interest with a cultivated air of detached aloofness. "Looks like he's not that curious about us after all," Alex assessed as dinner gave way to dessert, a parade of overly-sweet pastries and confections lacking the natural subtlety of the best Abbey treats.

"I would not say that," Urthblood begged to differ. "He merely hides his interest well - and bides his time equally well."

Dawton laughed in impressed congratulation. "Harr! You got our King pegged just right, Lord, that you do! I saw the look he gave us after Voley pointed us out to him, an' he ain't about to forget or dismiss us, you can be shore o' that! Mebbe he'll find his way over to us before this meal's over, or p'raps he'll have us summoned in for a private audience afterward, but he's not put us out of his mind, not one bit!"

It appeared Fael was not finished biding his time just yet. With the dessert trays still on the table, a pair of jesters entered out onto the floor before the dais, immediately commanding the attention of the celebrants. Dawton sat up straighter, an anticipatory grin lighting his features. "Ooo, here comes ol' Jed Tester, best harlequin an' court fool in all th' lands! He always puts on a good show, Jed does! You folks're in for a treat!"

Alexander's eyes were on not the multihued-silk-adorned otter, who capered and bounced with abandon before his audience, but on Jed's sidekick, a forlorn-looking fox outfitted in equally preposterous regalia far dingier and more patchwork than Jed's. "And who's his assistant? I'm surprised to see a fox in any capacity at all within Floret."

"An' he's the only one o' those crafty an' untrustworthy brushdogs ye will see inside this castle, to be shore. Feyo Olayo's his name - not 'is real one, th' one given him by King Fael. Some ol' joke or play on words of some sort suggestin' he's both ugly an' smelly. T'ain't really smelly, 'course - Fael'd never have such a beast stinkin' up his regal home - but the King seems t' get amusement from it, so the name's stuck. Part of a band of miscreants that drifted through our territories three or four seasons back, an' the only one who escaped with 'is life. Turned out to have some skill at entertainin', so Fael showed mercy an' spared 'im, on condition he became Jed Tester's foil. Been that way ever since … an' if that fox knows what's good for him, he'll be happy with his current station, an' grateful he got off so light!"

"Didn't you … didn't King Fael … offer him the choice to be on his way if he wanted?"

"An' waste the chance t' add another fine fool to the Royal Court? He's no Jed Tester, to be shore, but havin' ol' Feyo in the act has certainly upped Jed's game! That clown's never been funnier'n since that fox teamed up with 'im!"

"Yes," Alex pressed, "but … he is free to leave if he chooses, isn't he?"

"Never really thought about it that way. But why'd he _want_ to leave, matey? Where's an ugly, stinky fox gonna have it better than here in th' Royal Court?"

It occurred to Alex, as he watched the forced comedy of the otter-fox duo acted out before him, that Feyo Olayo might have any number of reasons for wanting to leave Floret, first and foremost being the humiliating public treatment being heaped on him right now. This was no team of equals performing before the attentive crowd; Jed Tester clearly stood out as the master and leader of their two-beast troupe, taking the starring role with each strained joke and pratfall, playing the clever and witty half of the pair whilst subjecting his hapless partner to all manner of verbal and physical indignities, a prolonged denigration which left most of the audience tittering, chuckling or guffawing in amusement. For his own part, Alex found himself incapable of joining in the merriment, judging the comedy routine little more sophisticated than the antics of the Redwall youngsters who'd staged their historical pageant, and not nearly so honest or innocent either. The expression of pained sufferance affixed to Feyo's face during all of this may have been a carefully-cultivated part of the act, a performer staying true to his character … or it may have been something more genuine and soul-baringly revealing.

Finishing up the first part of their routine before the Royal dais, Jed and Feyo then went from table to table, adjusting their act to encourage audience participation and allowing for atrociously punny banter between the otter and his targets, few of whom escaped his barbed skewers and deflating quips. Threading their way through the Grand Hall and commanding the attention of everybeast present, they certainly lacked no shortage of willing butts to their jokes, even if those jokes typically left the onlookers laughing nervously at themselves.

Dawton whomped his webbed paw against their tabletop. "Harrharrharr! Ain't that Jeb a rip an' a half? He's in rare form t'night, he is! Wonder what he'll say about us, if he makes it over here?"

Alex noticed he wasn't the only one containing his laughter; then again, it would have constituted a once-in-a-hundred-season event if Urthblood had cracked a smile or let loose with so much as a chuckle at any of this. Instead, the stoic badger leaned toward the otter Skipper and said, "I see more of courtly tactics in this. The King will have his jesters mock and poke fun at all his guests, just to remind them of their place and deflect any real criticism away from the throne. Very clever, actually, and most astute. It would seem King Fael knows the ways of power well, and exercises his authority most adeptly."

Alex gave a sour grimace as he watched Jed and Feyo move on to yet another table. "Guess that means we'll not hear this costumed fool crack any jokes at the King's expense."

"No, that you most certainly won't."

Alex jumped in his seat, startled at the sudden voice in his ear from where nobeast had been mere moments before. Glancing aside now, he saw King Fael standing right alongside him. The distraction of the two jesters had allowed the Royal squirrel to descend from his dais and approach unnoticed.

Urthblood, perhaps more cognizant of his surroundings than Alex, showed no surprise at the King's sudden appearance among them. "Your Majesty," the badger softly rumbled with a respectful nod, "thank you for joining us."

The simple acknowledgement, and the way in which Urthblood delivered it, created an entire dynamic of the interplay of powers here. The badger refrained from introducing himself by name, since of course Sheldeen Voley would have already informed Fael just who this visitor from Salamandastron was, and this was Urthblood's way of letting his Royal host know that he knew Fael knew his identity, and no more time or breath was to be expended on such common knowledge. And if it constituted a breach of court protocol or a mild affront to Fael for Urtblood to assert, however subtly, that he fully grasped the nuances of the situation and would treat with Fael as an equal, the badger shown no concern over it.

Fael returned Urthblood's pre-emptive greeting with a natural, measured smile that revealed nothing. "How could I not? Look around you, Lord, and you'll see a dining hall filled with all manner of Southswarders who have been here before, and will be here again. Their tidings remain the same, season after season, as do their mannered and practiced pleasantries. Any sense of novelty or spontaneity has long since abandoned them. So to now have so unexpected a group of visitors as to include Lord of Salamandastron and a Chieftain of Redwall, well … that is something new. And I thirst for the new."

Urthblood held to his usual implacable calm, perhaps wishing to let the Squirrel King know right from the start what manner of beast Fael would be dealing with. "If that is true, Your Majesty, then I am given to understand you might have quite a bit on your plate these days to satisfy that particular thirst. Skipper Dawton here has dropped any number of hints while in my company of some new threat abroad in Southsward, and his alarm was enough to put my own forces on high alert for the remainder of our journey to Floret. I have been told repeatedly to hold my questions on the matter until I could speak with you directly on it. So tell me, Your Majesty, what is this menace that ails your lands to the point where even brave and stalwart otters are left looking over their shoulders in fear?"

"Wouldn't say it's fear, Lord," Dawton interjected, Fael's presence at their table finally forcing the otter to tear his attention away from Jed Tester and Feyo Olayo. "More like … respectful caution."

Abellon snorted. "Call it what you will, friend, but we could see you were spooked. That much was obvious right when we first met, an' out on the river too."

Urthblood disregarded the exchange between mouse and otter, keeping his attention on Fael. "Is this something I might be able to assist you with, Your Majesty? In the interest of peaceful relations between Salamandastron and Southsward, I would be happy to render whatever aid I can."

Fael shot Abellon a dismissive glance. "Not with your mice you can't."

"So I keep hearing. But my mice are not to be discounted out-of-paw; they are formidable warriors, with much battle experience. And Abellon's is but one of many brigades and many species at my command. On this particular expedition I have also brought along a representative sampling of Gawtrybe squirrels from the Northlands, fast and solid allies of mine. It is my hope that, before I leave Floret, I will have the opportunity to have them both demonstrate their abilities for your edification."

"That sounds like something I can truly look forward to, Lord," said Fael in a mildly placating tone. "I will have Tammion Tesque, the Captain of the Palace Squirrel Guard, speak with you later to discuss arranging such an exhibition. Who knows? Some of these visiting dignitaries may wish to extend their stay at Floret to witness it. As to your query regarding the nature of the threat to Southsward, now is not the time or place for such conversation. I will agree to see you in private after the dance, or perhaps in the morning if I grow too tired. This is an occasion for pageantry, and festivities! So, how are you enjoying yourselves?"

"We are enjoying ourselves just fine, thank you," Urthblood answered for the table. "Your formal hospitality lacks for nothing. You are most gracious and generous as a host, as I am certain everybeast in this chamber would affirm. But there are some creatures I expected to find at Floret whose absence puzzles me. Where are the searat negotiators who came to you earlier this season, Your Majesty? This is the central matter which has brought me to Southsward."

Fael kept his tone airy and casual. "Now, Lord, what part of 'it can wait until later' did you fail to understand? Pray, do not make yourself tiresome to me before I have even begun to enjoy your novelty." The King turned to Alex. "I couldn't help but notice you've already made the inevitable acquaintance of Seffner Capellan. Quite the social gadfly, that furrierre of ours. Always making the rounds of any notable gathering of high society. Let me guess - he was gushing over your tail?"

"Um, yes, he was, Your Majesty. I'm … not accustomed to such attention at Redwall."

"Well, this is hardly Redwall, is it? At least I should hope not. Been quite some time since we've had any visitors from that Abbey coming to see us here in Southsward. Generations and generations, unless I am mistaken."

"The need has never been there before." Throwing a glance Urthblood's way, Alex said, "Your Majesty, if I may speak plainly - "

Fael cut him off. "The need? I wasn't aware that any so-called, supposed, traditional, historical ally 'needed' an excuse to come and pay their respects to the sovereign of Southsward. To me, or to any of my dozens of predecessors who have gone without so much as a courtesy visit from Redwall, just to keep ties fresh or to see how we fared down here. Such neglect of diplomatic respect does make one wonder, does it not?"

Alex fought back a scowl at Fael's reprimand toward his Mossflower home. "It's not as if any envoys from Southsward have visited us in all that time either."

"Oh, ha ha ha. Do not forget your place, Redwaller. So, what do you think of my Queen? Is she not magnificent to behold?"

"Funny, Seffner used that exact word to refer to my tail."

Fael gawped at Alex with renewed respect, then let loose with a laugh for more genuine than the first. "Ha! A quick wit! Perhaps you will prove less ponderous than this red brute here. But back to my wife. Can you believe, looking at her, that she's borne me four squirrelbabes, the oldest of those now almost ready to join society herself? I don't expect you to see it under her gown, but she still sports the trim and alluring figure of the maiden I wed nearly twenty seasons ago. And what of her fair fur complexion? Is it not flawless? I'll wager you've not seen its like anywhere in Mossflower, have you?"

"No," Alex conceded, resigned to the fact that Fael would steer this conversation where he wished and nowhere else, "I must admit I have not. I almost wondered whether she might be some lighter-furred variant or subspecies unique to this region … if I am not out of place for suggesting such a thing, Your Majesty."

"Oh, not at all. In fact, I suspect Saqueena might be secretly delighted by such a comment. Her fur is as naturally red as yours or mine. She achieved her golden glow through seasons of dedicated hard effort. Saqueena is the undisputed champion sunbather in all of Southsward!"

Alex was as caught off guard by this explanation as by the term used to describe it. "Um … sunbather?"

"Oh yes. Her fur does tend to run more toward the russet during the winter, but spring, summer and autumn all afford the plentiful sunshine required for this pursuit. The hours she spends up on the castle roof and out on the balconies, soaking up the rays to cultivate that healthy blondeness! No other squirrel in all the lands can match her achievement in this regard; she truly is the envy of all Southsward in fineness of hue!"

Alex studied the three princesses. "It seems your daughters take after their mother in this area."

"Ha, they do! Good eye! But, as you can see, they have some way to go before they can equal my fair Queen! Perhaps someday they might attain such an enviable state of sheen - one can only hope for the best for their offspring, can't they? - but until then, Saqueena must reign supreme in her unsurpassed, unparalleled sun-bleached splendor!"

"That's, um, quite impressive, Your Majesty. You're quite correct in that we have nothing like it at Redwall, or anywhere else in Mossflower, as far as I know. But some of us were wondering about the Queen's name. It seemed rather … coincidental. Is it perchance a name she took for herself when the two of you became betrothed?"

"Not at all! She's been Saqueena since birth. Her mother - a cousin to my father, King Mayael, may peace bless his soul - knew we would be paired up in royal betrothal, and so named her accordingly. Queen Saqueena - has a nice, regal ring to it, wouldn't you agree?"

"Are you not concerned about inbreeding?" Urthblood asked with matter-of-fact innocence. "One must consider such things where cousins are concerned."

Fael diverted a long, hard gaze at the badger for this thinly-veiled insolence, while Dawton shrank in his chair, trying to make himself invisible. At length the King replied, "Perhaps later I shall take you on a tour of our dungeons. You can judge for yourself how they compare to your own."

"Salamandastron is naught but living rock, Your Majesty. Every chamber within it with a door and a lock can serve as either a guest room or a cell. Some might say the entire mountain is nothing but one huge dungeon. It is a Warrior's place, lacking the elegance of Floret … but it suits me."

"I bet it does. Perhaps a clash of cultures is what we have here. We shall just have to make sure they don't clash in too unseemly a manner, won't we, Lord?"

"That would not do either of us any good," Urthblood admitted. "But sometimes allies can bolster their united strength by marrying their differences, each taking from the other what each alone lacks by itself."

"You combine crass innuendo and diplomatic sageness so well, Lord. Is this a talent you worked long to master?"

"No less longer, I imagine, than Her Highness has been working on her sunfur. Whatever it takes to gain and keep your attention, Majesty."

Fael rubbed his paws together, taking a new appraisal of the Badger Lord. "I can see that at the very least you will prove no sycophantic favor-seeker, grovelling to appeal to my vanity. That in itself might provide a refreshing change. But watch your tongue, if you wish my ear."

"I shall endeavor to do so, Your Majesty."

Alex saw that the two jesters had finished their floor routine and now withdrew to give way to a band of mixed-species musicians setting up alongside the Royal dais. Not once had Jed Tester or Feyo Olayo neared their own table, mindful to give Fael the freedom to converse uninterrupted with his most unusual guests. Considering the quality of the so-called comedy on display, the Redwaller was just as happy to have avoided their attention, even at the cost of this sometimes tense exchange with their host.

"And now the dance part of the evening begins," Fael announced, clearly making ready to take his leave of Alexander and Northlanders. "The princesses have been practicing their steps especially for these musical arrangements on tonight's program, and I fully expect them to be the shining stars of the Liberation Eve Ball!"

"And after the dancing has concluded," Urthblood probed, "then we will be able to speak in private?"

"We shall see. The dancing sometimes goes on until well after midnight, and then everybeast retires directly to their chambers, too tired to think of anything else. But you may wish to yield your seats now; as you can see, all these tables and chairs will have to be pushed to the sides to clear space for the dance floor. No more sitting for the rest of the night!"

"'cept for those up at the head table, I bet," Abellon groused under his breath, careful not to let Fael hear.

"If it's all the same to you, Your Majesty," said Alex, concluding that Fael would entertain no serious conversation until much later in the night, if at all, "I would just as soon be shown directly to my bed, if I may. Our day's march has been a tiring one, and additional standing for any length would pose an imposition upon my weary legs."

"Aye, Your Highness, that'd go for me as well, if you'd be so obliging, an' begging your royal hospitality and all," Abellon added.

"As you wish. I'll have Sheldeen show you to your rooms - _after_ Ruby, Jinny and Temma have danced. You will not want to miss that. In fact, I must insist that you don't."

Alex and Abellon looked at each other, for once united in shared acceptance of circumstances forced upon them. "Of course, Your Majesty," Alex said with forced cheer. "We wouldn't dream of missing it."


	29. Chapter XXVIII

**XXVIII.**

 **THE WESTERN PLAINS**

"Almost wish I was a bally brushtail for this assignment, wot?" Lesperance grumbled as the trio of Long Patrol picked their way across the dark Plains under a half-moon obscured by frequent clouds. "A little fox night vision might go a long way right about now."

"Muzzle your mutterin', Les," Lieutenant Traughber chided. "Can't risk bein' overheard by any of His Bloodiness's all-pervading pipsqueaks."

"Our Sparra've told us there aren't any left out this way," Brufford, the third member of their party, challenged the lieutenant. "No gulls about since they made off with Lattie, the Gawtrybe're all busy in the wooded areas, an' all the shrews've been withdrawn from the Plains too, an' who knows wot that's about. Which leaves these rollin' flatlands all to us."

"Unless some're lyin' about hid, just to trip us up," Traughber countered. "Urthblood's gulls may not exactly be nesting out here, but they still fly high 'nuff during their daytime surveillance to see wot's goin' on out this far. An' wot's t' say they've not got some shrews still assigned to these Plains hunkered down so our own fine feathered chaps've missed 'em? Can't take anything for granted, not where that bloody badger's concerned."

"Lieutenant's right," Lesperance said. "Even if there aren't any shrews or squirrels stationed out here at present, those gullfrighters've still gotta bed down somewhere for the night. With our luck, we'd trip right over a bloomin' gaggle of the slumberin' squabblers."

"Well, I'm countin' on our luck holdin', long as we keep our eyes wider'n our mouths, tough as it is to make out the terrain in front of our bally pawsteps at times." The lieutenant glanced about them, the Plains momentarily illuminated by a gap in the scudding clouds which allowed the partial moon to cast its ghostly glow over the landscape. The hares ducked and froze, in case any of Urthblood's owls might be patrolling this region - not that such a nightbird likely still wouldn't have spotted them when the moon was in, but it made them feel better to go into hiding mode when they'd most obviously stick out from their surroundings.

"Good thing th' Colonel went over this route with us so carefully during preparations," the lieutenant went on in a loud whisper, "'cos travellin' by night like this makes our mission a tougher nut to crack by half. Could've used Pledger or Buckalew or one o' the others who'd been out this route already to help guide us more accurately, but we work with wot we've got, wot?"

"Be a lot easier without these bloomin' packs too," Brufford added. "Tricky enuff marchin' only by night to a destination none of us has ever been before, but these loads weigh us down an' bulk us up, slowin' our stride an' giving us more to cover up while we're sleepin' away each day."

"Yeah," Lesperance added as the moon faded behind a cloudy veil once more and the threesome put on another forward push to take advantage of the renewed darkness. "We're already, wot, three days out from the Abbey? Would've thought we'd be there by now."

"This's our third night," Traughber clarified. "Only seems like it's taking longer than it is since we hafta travel by the shorter nights an' sit out the days, which are almost at their summer fullness. Wouldja rather be doin' this in th' dead of dreary winter, when we'd have nice long nights freezin' our scuts off, with hard frozen ground underpaw an' mebbe snow to contend with as well? Either way, regardless of the season, can't expect us to cover distance like the Colonel did when he was chasin' after Lattie at a good sprint."

"Hope we get there soon," Brufford said. "At this rate, the ratfaces we're supposed to be clearin' the way for'll reach that sanctuary 'fore we do!"

"That's largely up to Grayfoot too, an' Sergeant Twisher's group who're tryin' to get th' bally word out without raisin' any suspicions from th' wrong quarters. Also up to those rats themselves - hope they've got th' good sense 'n' discipline to travel only by night like we are. If not, I don't suspect we'll be seein' any of them makin' it even this far."

Another peek of intermittent moonlight sent the three hares down into their umpteenth stilled crouch of the night. This latest pause gave them an opportunity to scan the Plains around them. "Hey," Lesperance pointed out, "there's that group of four trees formin' a 'W' we were told to look out for, along with that slight hillock to the north. Must be almost there!"

"Just over th' next rise," Traughber agreed. "Or at least it should be, 'cordin' to our directions. Let's see if we can make it the rest of th' way during the next cloud cover; once we're there an' down in that valley, we might be able to move about a bit more freely even in the moonglow, least 'til we find what we're looking for. Then we'll not hafta worry 'bout bein' seen or heard by anybeast or anybird at all!"

Sure enough, the next period of cloud cover saw the intrepid trio all the way to their target and descending into the sunken, bowl-shaped dell, former lair of the now-exterminated Flitch-aye-aye. Picking their way down to the valley floor with great care to avoid the rocks, boulders, holes and tussocks which might trip them up, yield stubbed paws or even twist or break an ankle or leg, they at last assembled at the valley's low point, casting their gazes about in the darkness.

"I say," remarked Brufford, "how th' dampened blazes are we s'posed to locate a hidden entrance in this pitch, when it's not even that easy t' find in broad daylight?"

"Nobeast said this'd be an easy assignment, Bruff," Traughber shot back. "But the Colonel gave us a pretty good debriefin' 'fore we left, with a pretty clear picture on where we'll find that secret doorway. We'll just keep pushin' an' proddin' this terrain 'til it yields up its secrets to us."

And so they did, conducting their search even through the next break in the clouds, mindful now only of uncovering what they sought. It was Lesperance who finally discovered the moss-disguised hatch, as much by accident as anything, since they were all pretty much just tugging and pulling at every patch of moss which fit the description of what they'd been instructed to look for.

"Over here, chaps, over here!" Lesperance called out as he stood holding the secret hatch raised with one paw. Traughber and Brufford quickly converged on the spot, weighing what to do next.

"Guess it's down we go then," Traughber said, unshouldering his heavy pack as the others did likewise, the hidden downward-sloping passage now fully opened. "Can't risk lighting any lamps until we're off the surface, but consid'rin' how accustomed we've gotten to marchin' under cover of dark, shouldn't pose any hardship makin' this crawl unaided. 'Sides, s'posed to be a green glow easy t' see by in that sunken lair below, so we'll just make for th' green 'til we reach it, wot?"

Producing short lengths of rope from their supplies, they strung together the three packs by their straps, then Traughber and Lesperance headed down into the tunnel on all fours, taking with them a much longer rope tied to the packs behind them. Reaching the bottom some time later after an unpleasant, root-encumbered descent, the two hares dropped down onto the hard stone floor of the former home of the weasel cannibals.

"Well, they were right 'bout the green glow," Lesperance observed, looking around them. "Easy enuff to see by, 'specially after coming down from th' night above. Imagine it'd take some adjustin' for beasts enterin' this gloom outta broad daylight."

"That'll not be anybeast soon, since those movin' by daylight won't be makin' it this far." Traughber turned and took hold of the rope trailing behind them up the root-clogged incline, bidding Lesperance to do the same. "Let's get our belongings and our third member down here, an' then we'll see wot's wot."

Hauling on the rope, they pulled their provisions down the crude passage after them, with Brufford bringing up the rear to keep the line of packs straight, untangled and on course. At last all three hares and all three packs were down, and the Long Patrol burrowed into their supplies to pull out lamps they could light to better see their surroundings - the very first time such warm, yellow illumination had ever brightened this macabre subterranean world.

Taking stock of the Flitch-aye-aye corpses strewn about in various stages of dessicated decay, Traughber assessed, "Right, first order of business has got to be clearin' out these bodies an' gettin' 'em topside. Won't be a livable place with so much death around, wot?"

"Are we gonna bury 'em?" Brufford asked. "'Cos that'd be the jolly work of a few nights right there."

Traughber shook his head. "Too much else that needs doin'. We'll drag 'em up to the surface, scatter 'em widely about th' place so it's not too spankin' obvious to any high-flyin' bird scouts that the number of bodies has increased - mebbe even bear a few all th' way up outta the valley altogether - an' hope that takes care of the matter once an' for all."

"Will we hafta drag 'em all out the same way we just came in?" Lesperance almost groaned. "'Cos that'd be a clogger of a chore, workin' past all those cumbersome roots 'n' mosses."

"Can't be helped. Unless some easier way in an' out turns up durin' our initial surveys, that's wot we've got to work with."

"Mebbe we could spend some time clearin' out that passage first, so it's easier to get through?" Brufford suggested hopefully. "Make it a lot smoother haulin' stuff up an' down it - 'specially something as snaggly as a corpse with arms, legs, head an' tail stickin' out ev'ry which way."

"Oh, we'll be clearin' it out, no two ways about that. chum. But that'll hafta wait 'til after the bodies are moved out, I'm afraid. No tellin' when the new rat residents might be arrivin' - if they ever do - an' rendering their new abode free o' death takes top priority. Corpses first, then we'll worry 'bout cleanin' up an' doin' a little housekeepin' to make this place homier … " Traughber gazed about the stark, green-hued cavern. "Homey as it can get, at any rate."

The trio's underground survey, rapid and cursory as it was, nevertheless ended up being more complete and comprehensive than the one conducted by Alex, the Colonel and Log-a-Log during their chase after Latura, covering every passage and chamber of the warren, leaving one of the lit lamps back at their starting point so they could always orient themselves if they got to feeling lost. A couple more egresses were uncovered, but none any great deal more convenient than the one they'd already descended.

"Wish we'd brought along some moles," Lesperance lamented, "who coulda carved out a proper stairway in an' outta this place."

"Maybe we'll send for a small crew t' do just that, Les, if time an' circumstance permit. For now, we're workin' on the sly, an' that means the fewer the better. If rats do start comin', we'll see how many an' wot they need, but for now, we're both the refurbishment team an' welcomin' committee. So let's get to work, 'fore it's daylight again!"

 **FOXGUARD**

When the high watch spotted Jaffox making his way back toward Foxguard - with a company several times the size of the fox brigade with whom he'd departed the fortress - Tolar made a point of being on the walltop to see them in. And when finally they did appear in the clearing beyond the perimeter wall and the Sword could at last fully take their measure, Tolar came around to the stronghold's sole entryway to meet the returning fox commander - his ostensible second-in-command who revelled in acting as anything but.

Halting the inbound fighters outside the tunnel-like entry with Sappakit, Haddican and several of the other senior and junior members of his swordfox brigade at his side, while additional swordsbeasts and a few Gawtrybe looked on from above, Tolar planted himself squarely before his larger counterpart. "What's the meaning of this, Jaffox?"

"The meaning of what, Sword?" the other replied with oily, mocking innocence.

"This … horde. Weasel, stoats, ferrets … and additional foxes who don't look to be yours. Why have you brought them to Foxguard? They've no business here."

"On th' contrary, they've ev'ry right t' be here if I say they do. I brought 'em in, Sword. I did my job. They're loyal fighters of Lord Urthblood's now, proven in th' field an' sworn to obey that badger - through me, o' course. That means they're free t' come an' go at any of 'is Lordship's garrisons, be it Salamandastron, Gawdrey … or here. An' right now, I deemed this a good time t' introduce 'em to Foxguard. With yer permission, o' course … tho', if ye're gonna bar 'em after I gave 'em the go-ahead, hope you've got very good grounds fer doin' so."

A ferret stood at Jaffox's side in apparent solidarity, intently following this confrontation; Tolar guessed this was either the former leader of the now-ratless horde from the valley to the northeast, or else the highest-ranking surviving officer left alive in the wake of being "brought in" by Jaffox. "There's no need for them to enter Foxguard. They can camp outside the walls."

"Now that's hardly hospitable, Sword, ner properly comradely either. Bryn here, he's heard all 'bout this wonderful place of ours, an' how he an' his beasts would be welcome here as our own. Why should we make 'em stay outside when we got plenny o' space inside?"

"We actually _don't_ have plenty of space inside, as you well know due to most of your brigade having to sleep outdoors when you first arrived - a situation which has not changed, by the way. So what you were thinking by bringing them all here I can't imagine."

"Ain't you at least int'rested in debriefin' their top officers, gettin' to know 'em?"

"I was going to leave that to you."

"Aw, I know 'em already, Sword. But since ye're technically still my superior here, figgered wouldn't be proper keepin' 'em all to myself."

Tolar bristled at the implications of this. All to himself - meaning Jaffox had not only brought this horde in, but had done so in his own way, firmly establishing himself as the go-between linking them to Lord Urthblood's authority and imprinting upon them his own distinct brand of command … which meant that Jaffox now had a separate minor army of his own right here in Mossflower, above and beyond his Northland foxes and any support he'd receive from the Gawtrybe. If Tolar spurned them now, it would only solidify their acceptance of Jaffox as their immediate commander to be obeyed … but if he welcomed them into Foxguard at Jaffox's bidding, that too would only enhance his rival's appearance of authority. And if Lord Urthblood truly were so dissatisfied with Tolar's performance as master of Foxguard that he would resort to calling down this butcher of the Northlands to address the situation, then maybe that badger would also be content to stand back and grant his dreaded fixer a free paw to turn Foxguard upside down as Jaffox saw fit.

 _Jaffox had his own army now …_

In the end, Tolar did the only thing he could. "Okay. The officers can come in - but only the officers. And yes, I will debrief them myself, to determine how best to coordinate their assets with ours here at Foxguard. Now, I notice none of your Gawtrybe seem to have returned with you … unless they're still in the woods, bringing up the rear and coming in behind you?"

"Naw, they decided to continue th' sweeps to th' north on their own. Got another whole swath o' Mossflower on the other side o' the main path t' clear out - prob'ly scores more rats infestin' those woods 'n' fields that we gotta get moved out. Oh, an' by th' way, my own operations to the northeast o' here went quite well, in case you were wond'rin."

"I … wasn't, actually. Foxguard only plays a support role in these campaigns - as I trust you've informed our newest recruits."

"Speak for yourself, Sword. As you might recall, Captain Custis also appointed me his special consultant fer acceleratin' this campaign - which grants me expanded latitude inside Foxguard an' out as I deem matters warrant, even if all your blackshirts're sittin' on yer tails about it."

"In that case, I suspect you'll soon be on your way again, to see to further field operations."

"All in good time, Sword, all in good time. Figgered I'd see t' business here first, 'fore headin' out again."

Looking past Jaffox and Bryn, Tolar's gaze came to rest on the next area of concern to address. "And these vixens … part of your 'business' too? They don't look like fighters to me."

"Well, that remains to be seen, don't it?" Jaffox replied with a smarmy grin. "Some dogfoxes like a liddle fight in their bedmates!"

Tolar's mouth turned downward in disdain. "You raided that horde's vixens and brought them here for your own recreation? I'm not sure Lord Urthblood would approve of that. I'm not sure he would approve at all."

"Oh, they ain't _all_ fer my own foxes. Some o' my lads're quite content t' get by without, so we'll have vixens t'spare. An' from what I'm given t' unnerstand 'bout yer own situation, I gathered they might be 'preciated. Very much 'preciated, in fact."

Tolar scowled, forcing himself not to glance Sappakit's way. "I can't imagine where you got that idea. My brigade functions on dedicated discipline, without the indulgence of such … distractions."

Bryn leaned in toward Jaffox and muttered, "Is this brushtail fer real?"

Tolar stabbed a glare toward the ferret. "Was there something you wanted to say?"

Bryn straightened, only slightly chagrined in light of how Jaffox had stood up to the Sword. "Commander 'ere told us you might react this way to the offer o' vixens, but I didn't berlieve 'im, not wholly. See now I guess 'ee knows you better'n I woulda credited … sir."

"Thank you for adding that title, since I am your superior's superior. You may address me henceforth as 'Sword.'"

"Uh, yes sir … uh, Sword."

Tolar returned his attention to Jaffox. "I may have needed compelling reasons to exclude our newest officer recruits from Foxguard, but I need no such grounds for these vixens. If they are not soldiers bound to take our orders, then they are civilians, under neither your command or mine. As such, they will not be permitted within this fortress."

Many faces fell at this declaration, not all of them those of Jaffox's brigade, or the vixens themselves, some of whom had clearly hoped to advance their fortunes here amongst the powerful and influential swordsbeasts. "My Sword," Sappakit implored in a low voice, "I really think you should consider this more fully … "

Tolar remained obstinate. "Then I shall consider it while they remain outside our walls, where they will be free to while away their days as they will. We can't have them loitering amongst us, disrupting our drills and training, and the conduct of this stronghold."

Sappakit drew back on his heels in grudging acceptance. "As you say, sir."

"I hope you'll at least make an exception fer their head vixen," Jaffox said to Tolar. "Seems t' me you'd wanna hear her view on things as much as any of our new officers."

"Why would I? She'd still be a civilian, and not mundane to Foxguard affairs."

"Unless you do decide t' let 'em all in."

"That will be then, if I ever decide thus. This is now."

"Still, I would urge you t' let 'er in right away. In fact, I'd insist on it."

"Is she … spoken for by any member of your brigade?" Tolar asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

"Aye. Me."

And there it was … and Jaffox once again had the Sword over a barrel. As long as Tolar maintained Mona as his mate, he could not for the sake of appearances forbid his new and independent-minded second from enjoying such privilege as well, not when the vixen in question stood right here in the fur. Tolar's previous discussions on the matter with Sappakit had involved hypothetical vixens not even known or on-scene, and that had been one thing, but now, faced with vixens who were anything but hypothetical, brought here by Jaffox for precisely the purposes Tolar and Sappakit had debated on those prior occasions, things were very different.

Tempted as he was to deny Jaffox this concession, Tolar tactically relented. "Very well. She alone may enter, in order for me to, as you say, hear her views on matters. Perhaps she can persuade me to change my own views, if I am able to spend sufficient time with her."

"Aye, wise choice, Sword, wise choice," Jaffox said, in a tone jovially obsequious rather than mocking or challenging. "Shall we, then?"

Gritting his teeth, Tolar turned and led the way into the fortress, followed immediately by his fellow swordfoxes and then Jaffox and his mixed party of veteran Northland foxes, new Mossflower recruits and one very conflicted vixen.

Joska maneuvered herself to Jaffox's side as they passed under the wall; if the vixen was at all impressed by the dimensions and formidable layout of Foxguard's perimeter bulwark, she was too distracted to show or acknowledge it. Before she could speak, Jaffox hissed at her, "Chose yer words careful here - it's very easy t' be overheard."

"You made it sound like these bladedogs were hungerin' for what we got t' offer! That cold stiff all but sent us away! An' now he wants to study me t' find out what I'm all about! I agreed to come with you to share your privilege, not to be examined an' interrogated by a suspicious-minded war chief. This's worse than Krayne - worse than Bryn even!"

"Don't frazzle yer brush, wench," Jaffox softly growled back. "Ye'll have yer privilege, long as y' stick by me. As fer yer sisters an' all th' rest, give it a liddle time. Tolar's just one fox, an' not all th' rest o' his crew feel th' same as he does. They've been forced t' watch fer a long time while he enjoys what they're denied. Once they see me enjoyin' you as well, knowin' there's so many other eager an' willin' partners waitin' for 'em just beyond their walls, I wager the pressure on our good Sword'll build to where even he won't be able to deny 'em anymore!"


	30. Chapter XXIX

**XXIX.**

 **CASTLE FLORET**

Contrary to his assurances, King Fael did indeed end up keeping his guests on their footpaws for quite some time after dinner was over, padding out the dances so that it took well into the night before all three of his daughters - and his son the prince as well - had all taken their turns on the ballroom floor, to the mandatory pleasure of all. Alexander found himself ushered into a private sleeping chamber near the cusp of midnight, wondering with a trace of resentment whether Fael had kept them up so late just to prove a point, a petty exercise of his royal authority purely for its own sake.

In the morning, Seffner Capellan paid a personal visit to Alex in his chambers, offering his services to help the Redwall squirrel make sure his pelt was in presentable shape for further Royal audiences.

"I can tend my own fur for myself, thank you very much," Alex said with the trace of a scowl, sending the court furrierre away. "Including my magnificent tail. Go tend one of the aristocrats who never learned how; I'm sure they require your attention more than I do."

"Well, really!" Seffner sniffed, withdrawing in a huff. Some time later, after Alex had in fact tended to his own pelt most satisfactorily, if perhaps not quite up to the standard Capellan might have achieved, there came another knock on the bedchamber door. The Redwaller opened it to find a fancily-appointed hare at the threshold. Alex couldn't tell whether it was one of the guests he'd seen at the previous night's festivities, where a few hares had been in evidence, although he guessed not, since this one seemed to be here in some official capacity, attentively waiting on the squirrel.

"Good morning, yes?" Alex greeted.

The hare stiffened ostentatiously, just as any Long Patrol might. "Good mornin', good sir. Twindle Swain, His Majesty's Charge d'Affairs, at your service! Will you please follow me, if you'd be so kind, chap."

Alex stepped out into the corridor to join the hare, closing the door behind him out of Abbey habit, although he was beginning to suspect these folk probably had separate staff just for that as well. "Charge d'Affairs?" he asked, a bit confused. "I thought that was Sheldeen Voley's job."

Swain drew back, aghast. "Voley's His Majesty's appointment secretary. Two diff'rent things, don'tcha know. Very diff'rent things indeed, wot?"

"If you say so."

"Right. Now, I've been dispatched to show you lot around the castle a bit. At least the public spaces - Royal quarters an' some other sections're off limits, of course. Normally we'd have some less important member of the castle staff see to this, but since you're a chieftain an' a Lord, fell to me, wot? Come along, let's round up the others an' get this tour started, shall we?"

"What about breakfast?"

"Wot about it? I'm sure they'll have some tuck 'n' scoff laid out for you in good time, but walkabout first! Best show you the sights 'fore ev'ryballybeast else is up an' about cloggin' the corridors an' clutterin' the chambers, I'm sure you'll agree. Lots of the landed gentry'll be sleeping in after all last night's revelries an' cuttin' so many rugs, an' taking late breakfasts themselves. Until then, we've got Floret largely to ourselves, so may's well make the most of this bloomin' breather, wouldn't you agree? Come along, come along, no more dallying, these sights won't see themselves!"

Working their way along the corridor, they came to the chambers of Urthblood, Abellon and Witko, collecting each in turn for their growing knot of tourists, and then they were off for their tour of Castle Floret. As magnificent as the palace was from the outside, only an actual circuit of the interior could reveal the full splendor and opulence of the structure. Alex stopped counting banquet halls and ballrooms after the third one, and began to appreciate how a single building such as this could accommodate all the festival's many guests and visitors along with Floret's regular staff and residents. With its many levels and towers and interior chambers extending well down into the plateau far below where basements and cellars would normally end, Floret put Redwall to shame as far as having room to spare.

"This is all well and good," Urthblood rumbled at the loquacious hare even as Alexander's stomach rumbled a more subdued protest of its own over the prolonged lack of breakfast, "but I was given to understand I might be able to speak with His Majesty this morning, before your pageant got underway."

"Funny, Lord, I was given to understand no such thing," Twindle Swain shot back with proper but abrupt politeness. "And I would say the operative word in what you just said was 'might' - as in it might happen, or it might not. Looks like in this case it's a not, wot?"

Alex softly chuckled with inward satisfaction at this riposte, especially coming from a hare of all beasts. Not since the badger's last visit to Redwall had Urthblood received a proper dressing down from the long-eared creatures he'd made into mortal enemies with his capture of Salamandastron two summers earlier.

Urthblood pressed on, not bothering to mask his impatience. "I know it is not my place to demand the King's attention when he is so busy, but he avoided us last night after the dance concluded, and now he spurns us again when I have clearly made known to him my desire to meet with him."

"Jolly well right about that, Lord: It's not your place. King sees who he jolly well wants to see, an' when he wants to see 'em. Now, let's just nip down this corridor here, so you can see the swimming pool. It's heated, you know … "

Finishing up with this, Twindle Swain led them up to the castle roof, where he promised views of scope and breadth unmatched anywhere in all the lands.

"I would invite you to Foxguard someday," Urthblood responded coolly, unimpressed.

"The, uh, Queen isn't up there, ah, sunbathing, is she?" Witko inquired with some hesitation. As a male squirrel with a High Lady of his own tribe's, the idea of glimpsing Saqueena displaying herself unclothed would have been nearly as discomfiting as coming across Lady Mina in an ungarbed state.

"Um, no, chap. Little bit cloudy today, so not ideal fur-bleachin' conditions, even if Her Majesty weren't going to be so busy with Liberation Day. So don't throw a tiffin' tizzy, she'll not be up there with her fur on full display."

True to Twindle Swain's promise, the views from the roof of Floret proved breathtaking in their panoramic sweep and splendor of vistas, laying out all of Southsward from the distant shores of the Western Sea to the inner lands to the east, and far north and south as well. Even Urthblood held his tongue, issuing no further challenges or comparison upon realizing that the combined height of the castle itself and the plateau upon which it stood nearly rivaled Foxguard, and offered a comparable commanding view of its own region.

Alex noted a team of castle squirrels installing a series of tall posts with high cross-bracings all around the roof, like a spare miniature forest. Looking over the low wall at the roof's edge, he observed wood frames of heavy fabric netting deployed just below the roof level, jutting out from the castle wall as if to catch anybeast careless enough to tumble over these modest battlements.

"What's this?" the Redwaller asked Swain.

The hare motioned toward the squirrel overseeing the installation. "For the games later on, after the pageant," Twindle explained. "Banterball, it's called, an' don't ask me the flippin' rules, 'cos I can't make heads or tails of it. Can't even stand to watch 'em play; my heart does a right corker of a flip every time one of 'em goes over the flippin' side."

Alexander's eyes widened, along with Witko's and Abellon's. "You mean some squirrels actually do go over when they play?"

"Oh sure. Major bloomin' points off if they do, as I understand it. If you care t' know more, you can ask Skads over there. Matter o' fact, think I'll hand you off to him now anyway, since the next area of the castle to show you is his own pers'nal purview. Lemme just make jolly sure he can be spared from up here, an' I'll be on my way then."

Swain led them over to the laboring squirrels. "My good chaps, allow me to introduce Banter Skadsley, King Fael's Director of Games and Recreation. And the creator of Banterball, I might add. Um, you may've figured that out from th' name, but just in case you hadn't … "

"You have a separate position just for that?" Alex asked, incredulous.

Banter Skadsley stepped forward; unlike the other court functionaries they'd met so far, he wore far more practical and functional garb, almost like a carpenter's. "Of course we do, friend," he said to Alex with a forced smile. "Royal court this big, that's a full-time job just keeping everybeast occupied with the diversions they need. And that's on a normal day; throw in a festival and all these guests, and I'm running around like I can't find my tail. Fortunately, work's almost finished here, and then I can catch my breath while everybeast else is at the pageant. Maybe I'll even try to catch it myself. I hear it's got an extra wrinkle this year."

"Glad to hear you're on top of your jolly game, Skads chappie," Swain said to him. "Makes it easier for me to ask if you could see these walkabouts down to the playgrounds an' amusement hall, if you don't mind. That's your domain, an' you know how to show it off like no bally beast else."

"That I do. Be glad to relieve you of them, Twindle. Do they, ah, know about the … thing yet?"

Swain twitched his whiskers, ears flopping sideways. "Assumption is, His Majesty's not discussed it with 'em yet, so might wanna steer 'em clear of that for now."

"Okay, got it. You run along and get back to being in charge of affairs, and leave them to me!"

As the hare scampered off and disappeared down a different doorway from which they'd emerged onto the roof, Alex said to Banter Skadsley, "We … haven't had breakfast yet."

"Oh, we had ours hours ago. Have to make an early start of it on festival days, up well before sunrise to get everything done that needs doing. Come on, and I'll show you what's in store for later today. You may even want to join in yourselves - the two of you look fit enough to hold your own against most of our players. The less experienced ones, at any rate."

"Um, I think I'll take a pass," Witko told the Games Director. "Wouldn't want to hone in on territory best left to experts at the sport, right?"

"And I'll be content to watch as well," seconded Alex, "if I can even bring myself to do that. Twindle Swain said just now that some players actually do go over the side sometimes, and fall into the nets?"

"Oh, sure. Happens several times each match. Always a thrilling moment - the King and Queen cheer and curse the loudest of anybeast, depending on which team they've wagered on."

"But the nets always catch them, right?" Witko prompted.

"Usually."

"Usually?" Alex repeated in disbelief.

"Some of our champions work up such velocity that if they miss a grip while lunging for the ball, their momentum will carry them so far over the side that they propel themselves clear beyond the netting. Happened to me a few times, in my own playing days. Quite a fall to the moat below, and knowing just how to hit the water is key. Easy to knock yourself out cold and drown, if you're not careful. That's why we now post otter lifeguards down there during every tournament, ever since that unfortunate incident with Springer Neppernan several seasons back. A natural at the game, old Nepp was."

The two squirrels, along with Abellon, were too shocked to speak further, leaving it to Urthblood to carry on with the questioning. "So, tell us a little about how this game works, Director."

"Oh, sure. Two teams, of anywhere from six to eleven players each, depending on how many participants we can get for any given match. Three balls, all in play simultaneously, one going around the posts left-to-right, one right-to-left, and one straight up and down. Team with possession can't let the ball touch the roof, or that's a point to the opposing team. If it goes over the edge, that's two points to the opponent. If it goes over and misses the nets, that's three points. If a player goes over - with or without the ball - that's five points. And if a player misses the net, that set is awarded to the opposing team, and play is suspended until the high-diver can be hauled out of the moat by Thern's otters and make his way back up here to resume. Such mishaps generally involve a change of clothes too, since it's hard to spring and leap in wet uniforms. Oh, and no paws must touch the roof either, or it's another point for each offense; players must remain up on the posts for the duration of the match. Each team has a Claimer, whose job it is to try to steal the balls for his own team, and a Springer, whose job is to block the opposing Claimer. The Claimer is the only one allowed to touch any ball not in possession of his own team, so you can see why his position is key, since it's through them that the balls ever switch sides. And … well, that's pretty much it. There are lots of other minors rules covering illegal interceptions and unseemly roughness, the latter of which the referees often overlook to the delight or frustration of the crowd, but I think you get the general idea."

"Perhaps we shall partake of this spectacle later on ourselves," Urthblood said. "But for now, I believe there was more you wished to show us?"

"Oh yes! Down in the lower levels. Follow me, if you please!"

The four visitors fell into step behind Skadsley, leaving behind the roofbound Banterball court as they descended into the depths of Floret once more. And this time it was truly the depths, as the Games Director led them down more flights of stairs Alex would have imagined could exist in any edifice this side of Foxguard. It seemed that Skadsley and King Fael kept their recreational facilities down below the plateau level.

The Redwaller spared several glances Urthblood's way as their group plodded down the never-ending steps, at first wondering at the badger's encouragement for Skadsley to continue this tour and then arriving at his own solution for the feigned sightseer's enthusiasm. The sooner Urthblood worked his way through all these barriers Fael was putting in their way to a private Royal audience, the sooner the Badger Lord could have his time alone with the King. Which meant that, unless Alex could secure time alone with Fael himself, that might be his only chance to warn the Southswarders of the danger posed by Urthblood. He would need to stick close by the badger, in order not to miss what might prove his one chance to catch the King's ear, even if it was in Urthblood's presence. If a group meeting with their full contingent was the full extent of what Fael would grant them, Alex would just have to make the most of that opportunity when it presented itself.

After all, it wasn't like Fael could keep avoiding them forever, could he?

At length they emerged into a small courtyard open to the sky and carpeted with grass. Alex had wondered whether any such spaces were to be found in the upward-built Floret with its plateau-limited land area, but here one was. However, far from the serene and meditative atmosphere to be encountered on the lawns of Redwall, this confined quad lay crowded with instruments of play and amusement: teeter-totters, swings, climbing bars, merry-go-rounds and slides, all being enjoyed by laughing and cavorting children of all species, even if squirrels did predominate. At the center stood a kinetic contraption far more intricate than any of the others, a giant puzzle of interlaced vertical and horizontal beams. Two burly hedgehogs worked a set of wheel handles to either side of the ride, and as they did so the beams slid to and fro, casting the entire assemblage into constant motion, the various components all shifting back and forth at once, sometimes in fairly uniform unison, other times in clashing counterpoint. Alex noted that only squirrel youths played on that one, clambering up and down it as they gleefully accepted the challenge of its perpetually-changing configuration, but this hardly surprised him, for who but a squirrel would dare venture onto such a plaything, or even consider it a plaything? For that matter, who but a squirrel could have even conceived and constructed such a device?

Urthblood too clearly admired the ingenuity on display here, and voiced that admiration. "You have outdone yourself with this playground, Director, especially with the central fixture. Most impressive. I can even see it being used for military training as well, to improve balance and coordination."

"Very astute of you, Lord," Skadsley commended. "Many of our amusements are dual-use, entertaining the young during their playtime and then sharpening the skills and reflexes of our guards after play hours. Captain Tesque swears by the Timber-Shift, and sees to it that all his squirrels practice on it regularly. If you can't get out into the woods and actually race through the treetops, it's the next best thing!"

"Who are all these children?" asked Alex. "I wouldn't have thought a castle would have so many."

"Many are the sons and daughters of Liberation Day guests, although a fair number of the squirrels are Floret residents - nieces and nephews of the King and Queen, or sons and daughters of the Palace Guard and staff. There's my own Kerney and Ofori over there on the spinner."

Alex couldn't resist. "Any of Seffner Capellan's offspring down here?"

Skadsley snorted in amusement. "That flufftail's not the marrying type, I suspect. Too in love with his fur - his, and others'."

"This all looks rather … tiring," Witko observed. "I'm not sure I ever could have played with such boundless enthusiasm, not even in my own youth."

"That's the entire idea," Skadsley confessed in a lowered voice. "They're all so keyed up in anticipation of the pageant, they'd be bouncing off the walls if we didn't have this outlet for them. This lets them work off their energy, and if a few tire themselves out so completely that they nod off during the play, well, there's always next year! It is the same story every time, after all."

"Ah, yes," said Alex, "the defeat of Urgan Nagru by Finnbarr Galedeep, and Joseph the Bellmaker, and Mariel and Dandin … "

Skadsley shot the Redwaller a mildly irate glance. "Don't you mean by King Gael, and all those others who helped him?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Alex quickly amended, inwardly wondering just what manner of performance he would be seeing later that day.

"So, this here's what you oversee at Floret?" Abellon asked Skadsley. "Along with what's up on the roof, an' any other festival events?"

"Oh, this's just the playground," the squirrel replied. "Let me show you down to the amusement halls!"

And so he did, leading them down first one flight of stairs below ground level, and then a second, and then a third. "Where are you taking us, the dungeons?" Abellon joked.

"Dungeons are four levels down," Skadsley answered without missing a beat. "We're going two below that - and when you see it, you'll understand why."

At last arriving at their destination, Alex, Abellon and Witko stood astounded by the underground space in which they found themselves. An ornate facade of white marble columns and arches formed the entry to the amusement hall, the entire antechamber bathed in a brighter glow than any that should have existed so far below ground. The light streamed in through various apertures which looked for all the world like windows, even though they all knew there could be no direct portals to the outside world this far down. Urthblood successfully deduced what they could not, pointing to one of the openings sending light into the chamber. "Mirrored shafts, I assume?"

Skadsley nodded. "Some of those shafts run all the way up to the very peaks of Floret, where they can catch the light all day. The placement and tilt of the various mirrors along the way ensures that the light reaches us here largely undiminished. If you were to stay down here for any length of time, you'd see the nature and character of the illumination change throughout the day, reflecting the position of the sun and weather conditions above. Reflecting … ha … I made a pun without even realizing it! But anyway, it must have brightened up topside since we left the roof, since this is more the kind of lighting we see on sunny days. That bodes well for our Banterball tournament later on. We did try using just lamps and lanterns when we first built this hall, but it just didn't give the effect I sought, so I banged my head together with our moles and devised this system instead."

"It is … quite an effect," Witko admitted, staring wide-eyed around him.

"Yes, it took quite a bit of work and ingenuity, as you can imagine, but I think you'll agree the end result was worth it."

"I have had several such shafts dug in Salamandastron," Urthblood told Skadsley, "which is what allowed me to identify their nature here. And yes, I can well appreciate the effort involved in such an endeavor … which is why I might question devoting such resources to something as frivolous as a mere entertainment hall."

Skadsley drew back. "Frivolous? Might I remind you, Lord, that you speak of my sole and dedicated vocation. The Royal Family and its courtiers require entertainment and diversion year-round, season in and season out, and not just on festival days. This is a crucial service I provide to Floret, and the quality of life in the castle would be so much poorer if I failed to do so."

"I meant no offense, Director. Clearly, Southsward is a land largely untouched by war and strife, and so your needs and priorities would differ from mine. At Salamandastron, with its long history of attempted conquest by vermin hordes and sea raiders, we view things rather more dispassionately. My mindset must of necessity be more militaristic."

A squinty-eyed vole emerged from the columned entryway to the amusement hall, wobbling out into the harsher light. "Ah, hullo, Banter! Thought I might be seeing you down here sometime today! Showing our latest guests our gallery of wonders here, hm?"

Skadsley gestured to the vole. "Gentlebeasts, please meet Probble Brobson, Keeper of Lamps and Lanterns! He and his staff oversee all of Floret, but it's down here on the lower levels under the castle that they work their greatest miracles!"

"Yes, we have our own Brother Jerome at the Abbey who oversees our torches and lanterns," Alex said. "But I just assumed you'd have more mirrored light shafts illuminating the rest of the hall, like you do out here?"

"Oh no," Skadsley corrected the Redwaller. "That would have been far too ambitious, even by our standards. Besides, many of the interior passages were specifically designed for lower light levels, so lamps and lanterns work just fine."

"I've just seen to all of those," Probble Brobson reported, "and they should all be good through this evening, even though I don't expect we'll get many visitors down here today, between the pageant and the feasting and revelling to follow. Still, one must be prepared, yes? At least everything is ready for our immediate guests here, isn't it, yes?"

"Let us proceed, then, and with thanks to our industrious and conscientious vole light giver! This way, everybeast, this way!" Waving over his retreating shoulder for the others to follow, Skadsley strode into the doorway through which Brobson had just emerged. Passing by the vole in his short work coat, fidgeting his paws and wearing a look of expectant anticipation on his face, Alex couldn't help but be reminded of another old acquaintance of the same species.

"Say, you wouldn't happen to be related to Lorr Bankvole of Mossflower, would you?"

Brobson's brow furrowed in concentration. "Not that I'm aware of, sir. My father and his father were both Castlevoles, like me, and before that we were the Widervoles of southern Southsward. No Bankvole in my lineage, that I know of."

"Ah. Just curious. You reminded me of him. Just coincidence, I guess."

"Yes, yes, must be, yes. Your friend, I trust he's doing well these days?"

"Um … "

The four visitors, with Urthblood at their fore, filed after Skadsley through the pillared entryway and into a much dimmer, narrow hallway. The badger's armored breadth scarcely left him room to pass, and several times he clunked clumsily against the pressing walls in a highly atypical display of ungainliness. It wasn't until Alex and the others passed through the same areas that they realized what was giving the larger creature so much trouble; far from being smooth and even, the walls of this twisting corridor protruded and bulged in unexpected ways to fool the eye in this low illumination, creating a static, vertical obstacle course to bump the shoulders and elbows of the unwary and make mere walking an adventure. Those walls were painted in irregular geometric patterns to help hide their treacherous nature, and Alex might almost have admired the ingenuity of the arrangement if not for the slightly sadistic undercurrent to it.

At last the corridor opened into a wider, squarish room with a doorway at the far end. Between them and that exit lay a floor divided into several large, circular sections - and each of those sections was rotating, and not all in the same direction.

"Ah, this part's a bit tricky," Skadsley told them as they clustered before the spinning floor. "Looks like it would be simple enough to cross, doesn't it? But once you get out on them, you'll quickly discover how disorienting they can be. One wrong step, and you'll find yourself right back where you started. Remember, a lot of these attractions were designed chiefly with squirrels in mind, and we're naturally a bit better at perceiving and judging such things. Perhaps you'd like me to go first, to demonstrate?"

"By all means," Urthblood bade their guide.

"Very well. Watch, and try to do what I do!" Skadsley proceeded across the spinning discs with the assurance of somebeast who'd traversed them many times (not to mention the confidence of the creator who'd designed them), combining dexterous hop-skips with deliberate pauses to catch the rotating floor segments at just the right moments of their contradictory motion to gain the far side of the room in the most expeditious manner possible. Beckoning to the Redwaller and Northlanders, he called out, "Now you try it!"

Urthblood went next, taking a few moments to study the opposing patterns of rotation before stepping out onto the nearest disc. Immediately, the circular section of the floor slowed under his weight, but did not stop altogether. Perhaps this variable, not previously factored into his cursory visual calculations, threw the badger for a moment, but he quickly adjusted his progress to take this into account, and soon joined Skadsley at the far exit, having crossed in nearly as expeditious a fashion as the squirrel himself.

"Very good, Lord!" Skadsley commended. "Most beasts don't do nearly as well their first time! Now let's see how the others do!"

Alex and Witko each took their turn traversing the trick floor, and despite being squirrels, fared somewhat more poorly at their showings than Urthblood had; Witko had to ride one disc around in a complete circuit when he misjudged a step, and Alex found himself being borne back the way he'd come after a similar misjudgment. Abellon, exceedingly wary of the whole affair, waited to go last, and when he finally did, proved far less capable at negotiating the kinetic course than even the two squirrels, ultimately finding himself stranded on one disc spinning around and around after several futile attempts to step off it and progress toward the exit.

"I … can't figure this out at all," the mouse captain bewailed from his revolving prison in the middle of the room. "Can somebeast come get me? I'm stuck!"

Alex and Witko jointly volunteered for the rescue effort, setting off once more across the turntables to effect their recovery while Urthblood and Skadsley looked on. "Yes, I should have mentioned that we don't get many mice down here, since they tend not to do too well at this," the Floret squirrel remarked.

"How do you make them spin?" Urthblood asked. "Do you have beasts working gears down below, as we saw with the hedgehogs up in the playground?"

"Oh, down here we have much better than that, Lord. As you've seen, Floret has its own moat. Well, this plateau also has underground rivers of its own too, although you have to go pretty far down to find them. That's why this amusement hall lies six levels below the castle's ground floor. The rivers themselves are still some way below us, but from here we can tap into their currents and use that energy to power the devices you see here."

"That, again, seems like a somewhat great deal of work to go to for something as frivolous as a mere entertainment."

"A 'mere entertainment' that your mouse captain cannot escape without assistance? As with some of the installations in the playground above, these amusements can serve a double purpose as well, improving the reflexes of the Palace Guard and keeping their physical skills sharp."

Abellon, looking a little woozy, was helped off the last disc by Alex and Witko and brought to stand before the others. "If I had all day to play around on those, they might be fun … almost. So, where do we go from here?"

Skadsley ushered them into the next room, and this one required an adjustment of vision rather than equilibrium. Here it was darker, not just dim as in the first elbow-bumping passage but near full dark - except on the walls and ceiling, where a myriad of brilliant, multicolored pinpoints danced and swayed against the underground gloom. At the room's center stood a most wondrous lantern of a sort none of the visitors had ever seen before, and it was from there that the multitude of fine beams emanated through an array of minute holes, each capped by a tiny tinted lens to lend a distinct hue to that particular beam. The entire lamp assembly sat upon a pedestal that ever so slightly swayed and jounced, no doubt affected by the same manner of water-driven mechanism which kept the floor discs spinning in the previous room. The effect was almost that of standing outdoors on a crystal clear night, surrounded by stars in every direction - except that these stars were in constant jiggling motion, and exhibited a range of colors not seen in any night sky anywhere in the world.

Another difference was that wherever one of the visitors came between the projector and the wall, he blocked the path of the light, resulting in a vague and approximate silhouette being cast against the surface instead … and in that particular creature being painted in colored dots, creating a weird and surreal effect.

Urthblood regarded the lantern with keen interest. "I have never seen a device quite like this before. The nature of the light being cast is unknown to me. What type of oil does it burn to throw out such luminosity?"

"Not oil, Lord. Metal. Some generations back, our court alchemists discovered a combustible kind of metal, which burns far more brightly than any known oil or wood. It is perfect for this rainbow star projector, although it burns so hot that we can only keep it lit for short periods, lest it damage the lamp casing. Also, do not gaze directly into any of the crystal lenses, because the light is intense enough to blind a beast."

Abellon blinked forcefully as he pointedly turned away from the lantern. "Would've been nice of you to mention that before now."

"At least you're not likely to be stranded in here, Captain," Witko teased the mouse.

"Harr harr."

Alex quickly found the quasi-starlit chamber somewhat disorienting, especially now that he knew not to look at the lantern itself and only at the walls and ceiling where it cast its light. With mere pinpoints demarking the dimensions of the room, it was impossible to tell even how big the space was, or whether the shape was cornered or domed. Some might have found the effect entertainingly diverting or entrancing, but Alex grew disenchanted with this would-be amusement, and impatient to move on.

Move on they did, into a chamber of welcome normal light again. This room contained a feature with which all were familiar, but which none of them had ever thought to see deep underground, in an enclosed space. Three great waterwheels rose and fell before them, edge-on and one after the next, but as with the spinning floor discs two rooms earlier, they did not all turn in the same direction. As far as Alex could tell, the three massive wheels completely blocked their way, with no avenue around them.

"Okay, this one might be a bit tricky, especially for you, Lord," Skadsley said. "I think we squirrels and even Captain Mouse here shouldn't have too much trouble with this, but your size and armor might have you scraping at the top. Here, let me go first, and show the rest of you how it's done."

The first wheel immediately before them and facing them edge-on spun downward, its wide, ladder-like slats constantly descending and disappearing below the floor. Gathering himself, Skadsley sprung forward and latched onto two of the slats with forepaws and footpaws and, climbing upward against the wheel's rotation, scaled his way to the summit, from where he launched himself at the next wheel in the series, this one turning in the opposite direction. He rode the second waterwheel until it carried him within stepping-off proximity to the third, which again turned in a more passenger-friendly upward-then-around-and-down-again direction, depositing him on the floor on the far side of the waterwheels. Of course, by this time he was lost to view of his companions, and he reversed his course, clambering back over the wheels to rejoin them.

"Bit more challenging coming back the other way," he said, a bit breathlessly, "since you're going up against two wheels spinning down toward you instead of just one. Wouldn't recommend anybeast but a squirrel try that. So, are we up for it, gents?"

Witko eyed the trio of waterwheels before them. "Yeah, this was definitely designed with squirrels in mind." He turned to Abellon. "You think you can manage this, Captain?"

"I dunno. Almost tempted to turn back around an' try my luck with that spinning floor again. At least that one's not likely to leave me with broken bones if I step wrong."

"It actually looks more difficult than it is," Skadsley said, "although to be fair, timing is important. If you like, Captain, you and I can go together, and I'll help you along."

"Yeah, I think that might be best. Don't suppose you'd agree to carry me on your back?"

" _That_ is not happening. Sorry."

Abellon sighed and shrugged. "Well, it was worth a shot. Let's get to this, then."

The mouse led the way up and over and around the wheels, and ended up acquitting himself quite well, as might have been expected of a military commander of Urthblood's forces; in spite of his initial misgivings, he showed nearly a squirrel's agility in scrambling upward when he had to, riding the slats when need dictated, and stepping between the wheels at the exact moment required. Breathing a sigh of relief, he pounced down onto the floor where the final wheel deposited him and waited for his fellows to join him.

Alex and Witko encountered no great trouble negotiating the wheels, and as squirrels could even appreciate them as the diversion they were meant to be. The Gawtrybe sergeant, however, could also see them in a more sinister light.

"If I had a treasury or some other chamber that needed to be securely guarded, I could see putting up an arrangement outside the door like this - but instead of easy-to-mount slats, replace them with blades and spikes. Nobeast'd get through that!"

"Don't give Urthblood any ideas," Abellon told the squirrel. "If he hears you say that, he's like to try'n tap into the underground springs of Salamandastron to rig up such a thing!"

The badger in question attempted the wheels last, and as Skadsley predicted, the space between the apex of the spinning structures and the ceiling left little clearance for his armored bulk to pass, and his plating scraped against the overhead confines several times. Otherwise, he made the transit in good fashion, even with his missing right paw which might have seriously impeded a lesser creature. The wheels themselves were built sturdily enough to bear his weight without sagging, and with just a little bit of creaking, and his passage scarcely hindered their mechanical movement at all.

"How many rooms are there?" Abellon asked once their company was reunited once more, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

"A few," Skadsley responded with maddening vagueness. "It is an amusement hall, after all. It would hardly do to have just a couple of rooms, now would it?"

They passed through several more chambers, none of these dependent on the motions of the unseen waters below but each presenting challenges of its own. In one, a series of ramps appeared to the naked eye to be more or less level, but some trick of design made walking them feel like struggling up a steep, sideways-canted incline. In another, winds from the tower peaks were funneled down to this depth just as the light had been redirected with mirrors into the antechamber, creating a ceaseless howl over which conversation was impossible and even thinking difficult, although the eerie keening did possess an aural beauty all its own. Another chamber, in a unique counterpoint, boasted a quirk of architecture that deadened sound, making words die on the lips as if speaking into an invisible baffle of cotton. Yet another room featured double-glass walls with a thin layer of oils between and light shining from behind, refracted by the viscous liquid in whorls and swirls of ever-so-slowly changing patterns.

Then they entered a dark room where glass made up not the walls but the floor, smooth and cool underpaw. As the group moved farther into the unlit chamber, sparks ignited in the void below, and a large free-standing filament of unknown nature in the center of the floor began to glow, providing enough illumination by which to see.

Urthblood regarded the filament with something approaching awe, or at least as close to it as the stoic badger ever came. "What is this?"

"It lights up, doesn't it?" Skadsley said, smug and unhelpfully.

"What makes it do so?"

"The answer to that, Lord, lies below your footpaws." The Floret squirrel pointed down; now that it was light enough to make them out, numerous slender, writhing shapes could be seen massed in a pool of water beneath them

"Eels?" Abellon asked.

Skadsley nodded. "Fire eels. Imported from an island far to the south. When agitated, they put out shocks sufficient to stun or even kill a grown beast - but don't worry, the glass barrier contains their energy. It is the same energy, we believe, found in lightning, if at a far lesser strength. Metal conductors extending into the water through the glass gather those excited discharges and channel them to this filament you see before you, casting it alight. The mere act of walking into this room puts them on the defensive and sends them into their shocking behavior, which then makes the filament glow. Automatic lighting, provided by nature herself!"

"And a fair amount of ingenuity too," Urthblood added. "Uncanny. Truly uncanny. I wonder if these fire eels could be harnessed for any weapons applications … "

"I wouldn't know about _that_ , Lord. My province is entertainment, not military or defense matters. But you sure wouldn't want to not have this glass between you and them!"

The next room after that went from having a glass floor to no floor at all, just a dark space dropping away from them as they gathered at the lip of the indeterminate precipice.

"Uh, what's down there?" Abellon asked, straining to make out the bottom of the pit.

"Just water. Rather cold, down at this depth, but otherwise harmless. The entire point of this room is to avoid going for such a swim, however." Skadsley gestured up at the low ceiling, and the array of bars and steel hoops suspended from it. "It's paw-over-paw to get through this chamber and on to the next! Is everybeast up for … oh, um …."

Urthblood was holding up his iron-capped right wrist. "I fear this challenge will be quite impossible for me, possessing only one paw. Even had I a hook instead of a wrist cap, it would need to be bolted through the bone to support my weight, and I never deemed it worthwhile to undergo a prosthetic procedure quite so … radical."

"Ah, yes, erm, I could see why, Lord … "

The badger lowered his arm. "Clearly, I shall need some other way to cross here."

Skadsley pointed to the left and right walls of the floorless chamber. "We do have ledges for anybeast who needs to get across on foot, although they're, um … "

"Quite narrow, I see," Urthblood finished for the Floret squirrel. "Certainly not wide enough for me."

"Well, Lord, it _was_ assumed with this design in mind that the very young were the only ones likely to ever be in need of such a bypass, so the ledges were scaled mostly with them in mind. I suspect your mouse captain here could also use them without too much trouble, if he's so inclined, and most adult squirrels could too, but a beast your size … " Skadsley gave a forlorn shrug.

"That was rather remiss of you," Sergeant Witko chastised his fellow squirrel, "leading us all the way here only to come to this chamber that you had to know Lord Urthblood would have no way to cross. What, are we supposed to turn around and go all the way back the way we came now?"

"I'm sure something can be arranged," Skadsley offered, not sounding entirely sure of his own assurances.

Alex leaned out over the edge. "How far is the drop? And how deep is the water down there?"

"The drop is only a couple of stories; the placement of the lamps was chosen to hide the surface from up here, and make it seem deeper and more mysterious than it actually is. As for the water itself, it's deep enough to swim in; I sometimes think our otters miss pawholds and slip intentionally, just for the thrill and fun of taking the plunge. But, then, otters, you know."

"How do they get back up?" Abellon asked.

"Ladders. In this wall, and the one opposite. It's not easy to see the rungs in this dimness, but they're there. We're not entirely without our safety precautions here."

"Nevertheless," said Urthblood, "I do not feel like drowning today. You mentioned some other arrangement to allow me to cross?"

"Yes. Let me see to that, Lord. One moment … " With that, Skadsley leapt up and grabbed hold of the nearest overhead hoop handle, and then the next after that, swinging himself effortlessly across the ceiling and reaching the opposite side in a matter of heartbeats. Alex and Witko, watching this feat, felt they would have no trouble matching it themselves, and even Abellon suspected he could make it across in such a manner without too much effort, owing to his smaller size and proportionally higher arm strength. All of which left Urthblood as the odd badger out, unable to cross on his own and wholly dependent on whatever solution Skadsley had ventured forward to provide … if there was to be any at all.

Alex was not the only one there left wondering whether this was just another of King Fael's dominance games, calculated to keep the Badger Lord in his place and remind Urthblood that, while he might be master of Salamandastron and ruler of the coastlands, here in Floret his power - like that of everybeast else - stood a distant second to that of the Squirrel King. Fael could easily have arranged for Skadsley to give them this tour, and bring them to this spot where the badger was left stranded and at the mercy of his hosts. It would fit with what they'd seen of the pompous yet calculating Royal squirrel so far.

Alex gave inward thanks that none of Fael's petty gestures of belittlement seemed aimed specifically at him yet, suggesting he might escape the worst of the King's negative attention. Then again, another sharp rumble in his stomach, reminding him that he'd still not had breakfast, hinted that perhaps he'd not escaped those attentions after all.

Skadsley left them all waiting for a fair piece, long enough that Alex and Witko became tempted to follow along themselves to see what was keeping their guide. But eventually Skadsley reappeared on the opposite side, bringing with him a pair of worker voles … or so they thought at first, before realizing that one of the voles was none other than Probble Brobson himself.

"Hey, wait!" Abellon protested. "How'd he get ahead of us?! We left him behind at the start of this maze!"

"Maintenance tunnels," Skadsley called back across the floorless gap, as Brobson and his fellow vole maneuvered a long, braced gangplank across from one side to the other. "Unfortunately, they're rather narrow, and for the most part no more accommodating to a badger than these ledges here. But I think this span should support your weight. At least I hope it can, because we've nothing stronger."

"Very well. If it snaps on me and I fall, I will hold my breath until I can make it to one of those ladders and climb my way out."

As it turned out, the badger did not need to resort to such measures, the gangway creaking and bowing under his timber-straining weight but holding until he was across to rejoin the rest. Alex and Witko had swung themselves across in imitation of Skadsley, but Abellon took the now-emplaced temporary bridge, both for his own peace of mind but also to test it out for his Lord. A mouse clearly weighed far less than a badger, much less an armored one, but Abellon still trusted his ability to judge the sturdiness of the span and deem it safe for Urthblood to try.

"Where to now?" Witko asked Skadsley with a trace of impatient suspicion. "I hope there won't be any more barriers Lord Urthblood will be unable to pass unaided."

"No, no, we're almost at the end. Just another room or two left to go, and we can walk right through them. Come along, come along."

Skadsley's placating assurances proved quite correct, for as they all strolled out of the floorless room they came for the first time to a split in the corridors and chambers here, with one hallway going off to their left and another to their right. The Floret squirrel paused, and the others, not certain which way they were meant to go, were forced to halt along with him. "This will be our last room," he said, indicating the chamber to the right, its nature and contents still hidden from view. "After this, you'll be free to go do as you please - including taking that breakfast some of you have been groaning about."

"About time," Alex grumbled to himself.

Behind them, Probble Brobson and his fellow vole bustled by, bearing between them the long gangplank which they now sought to return to the chamber to the left. As they disappeared into the darkened recesses, a shriek and cry went up, as if a banshee lurked within, set to wailing by the intrusion of the two creatures. It was a sound the visitors to this subterranean amusement hall had picked up echoes of in the previous two rooms, but out here, so much closer to its unseen source, the scream was enough to make them wince.

"What the fur was _tha_ t?!" Abellon asked. "What's in there?"

"Live exhibits," Skadsley answered casually. "We'll be skipping that for now; His Majesty has things in there he wants to show you personally, when he has time."

"Live exhibits?" Urthblood probed. "What manner of creatures do you display in there?"

"Mostly strange organisms from the sea. We've found a way to keep seawater fresh and aerated to keep such life forms alive indefinitely, or at least for a good portion of their natural life spans. This way, even Southswarders who dwell far inland and never make it to the coastlands can see some of the oddities which inhabit the shores and waters there. The crabs are quite popular, being both weird and largely active, as is our resident octopus, although that mollusk does tend to sulk a bit and huddle into an unsightly ball of tentacles and suckers when he's feeling especially petulant. Tricky one, too - he can squeeze himself through impossibly narrow gaps, having no bones, so we have to make sure his tank is securely sealed at all times. Took us a couple of instances of finding him splayed out in the middle of the floor and in danger of drying out before we figured that one out, believe me!"

Abellon and Witko had both spent enough seasons stationed on the coastlands at Salamandastron to know something of sea life. "That's no crab or eight-armed sea nightmare we just heard, nightmarish as that sound was!" the mouse pounced.

"Yes," Urthblood backed up his captain, "that sounded far more like a bird to me, although what kind I cannot imagine, since it's more strident than even the most raucous gull."

"Good ear, Lord," Skadsley complimented as another withering screech found its way to them. "That's our resident berserker bird. He puts on quite a show for our visitors, as you can probably imagine from just what you're hearing!"

Alex, thinking of all the Redwaller's Sparra friends and allies in Warbeak Loft, stood aghast at the mere notion of keeping captive of any member of the avian species. "You're holding a bird prisoner, for the mere sake of entertainment?" he accused.

Skadsley shot him an uncomplimentary glare. "A _berserker_ bird. Have you ever encountered one of those before? If so, you'd not be quite so sympathetic toward it. Savage and wild they are, and not civilized at all, or should I say even less so than most other birds. Dangerous, too, so trust me, this one's better off locked up down here instead of flying free terrorizing the countryside. They can kill most any mammal, except perhaps otters and badgers, and represent a distinct menace to the lands. Practically a public service we're providing here, putting this one on display so that all our visitors can recognize it for what it is, and know to avoid them when abroad in Southsward. So don't think to condemn or criticize us for something you apparently know little about, friend."

Urthblood, who seemed less affronted than Alexander by the idea of keeping a bird captive, said, "Speaking of mammals, do you perchance have any of those on display down here as well?"

"Not normally, no, Lord. Our dungeons are two levels up from here. Any furred beasts deemed in need of detention or punitive imprisonment would be kept there, as a matter of normal procedure. Again, my responsibilities are diversion, entertainment and recreation, not justice and incarceration. Those are matters best discussed directly with King Fael himself. Now, if we may continue … "

Leading their group on, Skadsley then took them into a chamber quite unlike anything the Badger Lord, Redwaller or Northlanders had traversed so far. Mirrors made up the walls here, set at angles and arranged in an irregular, twisting labyrinth casting reflection upon reflection so that the five of them found many images of themselves being thrown back at them. At times the visual clutter grew so confusing that it was impossible to see the correct path forward through the reflective maze, or even to tell whether the beast standing next to oneself was truly there, or just a mirrored illusion.

"Well, this is quite … something," Alex admitted. "I'm glad we have you here as a guide, because if I were on my own, I'm not sure I'd be able to find my way through."

"It gets a lot easier once you've been through it a few times," twelve and a half Banter Skadsleys said back at Alex, the Redwaller not sure which one was real, unable to discount even the half-image of the Floret squirrel. "It's actually built on a similar pattern to the striped hall we passed through at the beginning, just with mirrors instead of an optical illusion paint job - although the mirrors do create the impression of much more space here than there actually is. And that's not the only fun we have with mirrors here. Come along, and I'll show you!"

Passing through the visually-confusing array of image-multiplying mirrors - with only a few minor collisions with the reflective surfaces and each other - they entered into another mirrored area of an entirely different character. Here the looking glasses lay flush against the walls of a straightforward corridor - but the mirrors themselves carried distortions and imperfections which rendered the reflections ghastly or amusing mockeries of their subjects.

"Heh - always knew you had a big head, Captain!" Witko chided Abellon as he looked at the mouse's absurd reflection in a rippled pane that inflated the rodent's head to three times its normal size, while reducing the rest of his body to a stunted stick figure. Two mirrors down, Alex regarded Urthblood being squashed into a leagues-wide crimson obloid that made him look like a giant burnished egg with a tiny black-and-white striped head perched atop.

"I can see how this corridor might appeal to juvenile minds and tastes," the badger ruled, clearly neither amused nor impressed by the silliness on display here.

"Yes, this section is especially popular with the castle's young ones," Skadsley acknowledged, "although in truth many of the adults enjoy passing through here as well. Who doesn't need a good laugh every once in a while?"

Alex leaned into the Floret squirrel to murmur confidentially, "Lord Urthblood never laughs."

Skadsley looked as if he'd just been told Urthblood suffered from an immediate and terminal malady. "Never? Truly?"

"Not even a smile. Apparently it hurts his face to do so."

"How … horrible! Such a humorless existence is not to be contemplated! Um, so I gather he didn't think much of Jed Tester and Feyo Olayo's antics last night … ?"

Out in the plain corridor beyond this last attraction, Twindle Swain stood awaiting the emergence of the group, clearly ready to take them off Skadsley's paws and conduct them elsewhere.

"So, Skads, did these chaps enjoy your jolly show 'n' tell an' blinkin' lights an' confounded obstacles? Know how proud you are of them, wot."

"We all made it through," Urthblood answered for their guide, "even though at some junctures it seemed as if I was not intended to."

"Sure it was inadvertent, don'tcha know. This gamesmaster gets so tail-wound in showing off his creations, sure he forgets the social niceties an' all that."

"Speaking of social niceties," Alex butt in, "please tell us that breakfast is our next stop. I was already pretty hungry even before we came down here, and now after going through all of this, I'm just about famished."

"Brekkers? My dear chap, it's almost noontide!"

"Well, call it lunch then. As long as I get something in my belly soon."

"No time for that, 'fraid. Pageant'll be startin' soon, an' we'll need to get our stumps stirring and our tails shaking if we want to get decent seats! Come along, come along!"

Abellon and Witko, similarly denied their morning meal, joined Alex in looking glumly downcast as they all fell into step behind the hare. "Will there at least be a meal served along with the play?" the mouse ventured hopefully.

"Serve a meal? At our annual Liberation Day performance?" Swain's ears drew straight back in mortification. "Not done, not done t'all! Can't have greedy gluttons scoffin' their tuck an' fillin' their faces during our fair pageant! Might distract our fine actors an' make 'em forget their lines, wot? Nope, you'll hafta wait until showtime's over for any vittles!"

"In that case," Alex grumbled, "I'd just as soon skip the play altogether and be shown right to the kitchens."

"Skip the play?! Oh no no no! King Fael would never hear of _that_! Honored guests such as yourselves, missing a festive event that only comes once every four flippin' seasons? An' a Redwaller amongst you too? No no no - you simply must attend! This way, this way!"

Abellon muttered to Witko, "Why do I not _feel_ much like an honored guest?"

"Know what you mean," the Gawtrybe sergeant groused in return. "Let's hope this is the shortest play in the history of historical plays!"


	31. Chapter XXX

**XXX.**

 **A PAGEANT, CALCULATING AND VAINGLORIOUS**

To Alexander's relief, pitchers of water and fruit cordial awaited them at their seats for the Liberation Day performance. And while those beverages went only so far toward making up for the lack of any morning meal - or lunch either, apparently - they would at least fill his stomach to keep it from rumbling and gurgling in too untoward a manner during the play. And if they didn't, his hosts had only themselves to blame.

Their position in the audience underscored the need for quiescent bellies. All the tables in the banquet hall had been rearranged into ranked rows parallel to the Royal dais, with seats placed only on the sides facing that raised platform. Twindle Swain had ushered Urthblood, Alex and the others into a ballroom already half-filled, and yet four seats - one oversized to accommodate a badger - had been held open for them at the very front table. Secretly, Alex did not envy the audience members seated directly behind the Badger Lord, and predicted much scraping of chairs and craning of necks in attempts to view the proceedings around him.

Abellon gave a half-snort as he took his seat alongside Alex. "Hmm - maybe we _are_ guests of honor after all. At least they made sure we'll have a good view!"

The Royal dais had been cleared of its long table where Fael, Saqueena and the prince and princesses had dined and presided the evening before, converting the space to an elevated stage from which the actors would be clearly visible to everybeast in the hall whose line of sight was not blocked by red armor or a striped head. The scenery looked nearly as minimal as that of the Redwall youngsters' historical pageant, with only a few fake yet substantial plaster trees at the far ends of the makeshift stage and perhaps a few assorted props tucked behind them. It appeared it would be up to the actors and their costumes to put the story across. Somehow, given all he'd seen of Floret so far, Alex had expected more.

The Abbey squirrel helped himself to several tumblers of fruit juice while waiting for the rest of the seats to fill, hoping the sweet drink on an empty stomach wouldn't give him indigestion or any audible aftereffects. At length every seat was occupied, with a few less privileged onlookers left standing at the back or off to the sides to take in this yearly spectacle on their footpaws, their power and influence apparently inadequate to secure them any place in the formal seating arrangements. Alex felt a few momentary twinges of quickly-overcome guilt that he should warrant a spot right in the front row while others perhaps more deserving would be treated so shabbily, but then he reminded himself of how he'd been practically force-marched throughout the castle all morning without any opportunity for food or drink, and in light of that he didn't feel so bad about his current advantageous position. But he felt sure the standing audience members would share Sergeant Witko's previously-expressed hope that the play would not run longer than their legs would hold out for.

The first creature to tread the boards that day was the Court entertainer Jed Tester, his harlequin fool's garb now traded for a billowy shirt of black and purple that made the otter look at one and the same time more royally proper but also more theatrical, almost like an exaggerated parody of Sheldeen Voley's prim and proper appointment secretary's outfit.

"There's our minstrel-jokester again," Abellon said to nobeast in particular. "Wonder if he'll be funny this time? An' where's his fox whipping post?"

Alex too wondered at Feyo Olayo's absence, especially in light of what Dawton had let slip about the hapless vulpine the evening before. Then again, considering what Feyo had to endure in the course of his public appearances, perhaps he preferred to lurk out of the limelight for this occasion. And as for the Bluesnake otter Skipper himself, Alex had fleetingly spotted Dawton leaning against a side wall; apparently he didn't rate highly enough to score a seat of his own, or perhaps he'd seen enough of these pageants over the seasons that Fael knew to offer the otter chieftain's seat to first-timers and more esteemed guests who were not quite so familiar to the Royal court.

The otter onstage raised his arms, commanding the attention of the audience, who quickly settled down from their various private chatter and fell silent. Daylight streaming in through high windows in all four walls lit the ballroom fairly brightly, and would make anybeast on the temporary stage quite easy to see.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" Jed Tester began in a booming voice much more authoritative than the jokester tones he employed when playing the role of diamond-patterned Court fool. "Thank you all for attending, and it's our honor an' yores to have you here for the umpteenth-squillion presentation of our Liberation Day Re-enactment! So sit back, relax an' with no further ado, let the story commence!"

Rather than leave the stage at once, Tester adopted what he supposed was a more scholarly voice and manner as he assumed the role of narrator. "Let us travel back in time many seasons, many generations, to a period of Southsward's history when the beneficent and generous Gael Squirrelking ruled over these lands with a firm yet caring paw and a wise soul which assured peace and plenty for everybeast in his domain. Hear now the tale of how a vile vermin most wicked and cruel inserted himself into our honest and open affairs, taking advantage of King Gael's welcoming and unsuspicious nature to usurp the throne of Floret and place all of Southsward under a pall of dark tyranny!"

(In his mind, Alex could almost hear the Sparra trio of Harpreet, Skytop and Brybag chittering "Tyrranytyrranytyrrany!" during their own narrative duty at Redwall's historical youth pageant.)

"Let us join our venerable King of old on the day when this scheming fox in wolf's clothing first bespoiled our fair lands with feigned pleas for help and false assurances of friendship. On that morning, we find His Majesty receiving an esteemed visitor from far to the north … "

Jed stepped aside, allowing none other than King Fael himself to ascend the dais from one side, accompanied by a gray-dusted mouse in a threadbare red cloak which suffered greatly alongside Fael's splendid royal regalia, much more traditionally kingly than the fine but simple tunic he'd sported the night before. At his place at the table in the front row, Alex softly muttered to himself, "Fael as Gael? Why am I not surprised?"

But what was to come next would leave the Redwaller speechless as history was rewritten before his very eyes.

Fael stuck a confident pose as he held pretend court over the red-robed mouse and the presumed, invisible courtiers surrounding him onstage. "So tell me, good friend, who are you, and what brings you to Floret?"

The mouse, practically cringing in awed subservience, answered in an exaggerated cackle meant to convey aged decrepitude, and his scripted reply made Alex instantly straighten in his chair. "I am Joseph the Bellmaker, come from Redwall Abbey in Mossflower to offer my services to your Royal Highness. Word of your splendid court and your inestimable personage has spread far beyond the border of Southsward, and the Abbot felt compelled to send me as tribute so that I may craft for you bells as melodious and magnificent as those which grace and serenade our fair but humble home. I am at your service, Majesty, so tell me how many bells you would like and of what size and where you would like them placed, and I will obey your every request."

"Why, that is most generous of you, Joseph the Bellmaker of Redwall Abbey of Mossflower. Castle Floret is currently without bells, and such sonorous adornments will surely enhance the splendor of my already majestic palace. My Royal architect will set you to work at once, telling you what we can use and providing you with whatever you need to fulfill this obligation."

The fake-Joseph bowed. "You are too kind, Your Majesty! Clearly, every accolade and praise I have heard about you is true. All hail King Gael of Southsward!"

Alex opened his mouth, but no words came out. As a squirrel raised on this and other Abbey tales, he spotted so many things wrong with just these opening lines that he didn't know where to begin … and so he didn't.

A new parade of creatures streamed in through the side entrance of the Grand Hall, making for the dais stairs … and if Fael's butchering of Redwall history had made Alex sit up straighter, these newcomers had the same effect on Urthblood and his commanders, even before reaching the stage. An otter led the procession, dressed in a Palace Guard jacket of an antiquated style to stress he was playing a part and not an actual guard of Fael's (although he may well have been that too). Bringing up the rear were a half-dozen mice, dressed in exaggerated vermin style with ears, snouts, fur and whiskers all made up to give them a distinctly ratlike appearance.

It was the beast walking between otter and mice, however, which caught and held Urthblood's rapt attention. At first Alex couldn't be sure what species it even was, so outlandish was its aspect. Only long moments of scrutiny revealed that it was an ordinary creature struggling along under the full pelt and head of a skinned wolf, fangs still in the jaw and claws tipped with wicked steel hooks. Alexander's eyes went wide at the realization that this could only be the legendary battle dress of Urgan Nagru himself, the notorious self-proclaimed "foxwolf" who'd tried to conquer Southsward in the time of Mariel and Dandin and around whom this production would largely center. The outfit's ancient and worn aspect, along with the slim chances of even Fael's resources being able to come up with another wolf hide on demand, left little doubt in the Redwaller's mind that he was now seeing the original artifact, a piece of living history which had survived from those long-ago generations and been passed down from that day to this so that it could still be used in this annual pageant.

Urthblood, perhaps not as familiar with that tale as Alex, stared at the pelt-bedecked figure for a different reason, for beneath the outrageous costume labored … a rat. And not just any rat, but one well-known to the Badger Lord.

Abellon leaned over to his hulking master, his own eyes agog with startled recognition. "Lord, isn't that … it looks like … "

Urthblood affirmed the mouse captain's half-spoken suspicions with a nod. "Yes. Viceroy Korba. We now know what happened to at least one member of Tratton's delegation to Floret."

That Korba hardly participated in this presentation of his own free will quickly became apparent as the searat was herded up onto the stage by the otter leading him and the pretend horderats prodding him from behind; those mice, who by their role ought to have been subserviently following along in the foxwolf character's wake, clearly filled a double role here, playing the part of villainous henchbeasts even as their half-dozen drawn swords delivered a constant and unmistakable message to Korba not to deviate from his own part.

In his own mind, Urthblood wondered whether the searat Viceroy had found King Fael any less stern and demanding a taskmaster than Tratton himself.

Up onstage, Fael-as-Gael stood unapologetically breaking both character and the fourth wall, looking not at Korba and his fellow actors but straight out at Urthblood, Alex and the others, wordlessly daring them to disrupt these rehearsed proceedings by speaking out at the searat's inclusion, or acknowledging this surprise in any way. Urthblood returned that challenging, superior stare with a level gaze of his own, unflinching and unwavering in his usual implacable calm. If the Squirrel King was content to spring this surprise upon them, his badger guest was equally content to sit back and see how this entertainment would play out.

Fael slipped back into character, turning to face the newcomers as the mouse playing Joseph retreated to the sidelines. "Ah, Rabby Streambattle, my faithful Captain of the Guard! Who do you bring before me now?"

The otter flicked at his whiskers, and it was impossible to tell whether the gesture belonged to Rabb or to the beast portraying him. "Refugee from th' far 'n' frozen north, Yore Highness, beggin' sanctuary of Floret after a long an' perilous voyage to deliver 'imself an' his faithful crew from the harsh an' unforgiving wintry wastes. Barely made it here with their lives, an' seek only to dwell 'mongst our mild climes in peace."

Fael/Gael stroked his own whiskers in pretend contemplation as he regarded Korba/Nagru, who stood with eyes riveted on his fellow actor and captor, looking blanched and lost and not even daring at this point to acknowledge the sizable audience hanging on their every word and move. "Hm - looks rather devious and untrustworthy to me, Rabbs. Are you sure it's a good idea to take him in? I've a sneaking suspicion he might cause us trouble if we do."

"Aw, he'd not do that, Majesty! I've talked to 'im, an' he strikes me as square 'n' on the up 'n' up. On my affidavy he'll not betray us or make a fuss. I'll vouch for 'im!"

While Alex silently gnashed over this further revision of history - for every Redwaller knew it was Rabb Streambattle who'd cautioned against allowing Urgan Nagru into Floret, and Gael who'd overruled his otter captain and shown poor judgment in admitting the villain - Fael shook his head dubiously. "I don't know. What's with that pelt, and that head? All seems rather barbaric to me."

Perhaps not trusting Korba with any more dialogue than absolutely necessary, the otter continued speaking for the villain of the piece. "Oh, that's just a pelt 'ee hadta take off a dead wolf 'ee found, t' keep 'imself from freezin'. Naught sinister 'bout it, Majesty."

"Oh? Then what about those steel claws? And are those bloodstains on them?"

"All perfectly innocent, an' explained away t' my satisfaction, Sire."

"Well, I should hope he plans on trading that rather frightful ensemble for something more befitting a civilized beast, if he's to be living here amongst us. Very well, on your counsel I will welcome these refuge-seeking wanderers into my home, because I am gracious and generous and my heart is open to all those in need, and I will not turn away poor, unfortunate wretches from a less hospitable part of the world. They will dwell with me here at Floret for a spell, where we will feed and clothe them as proper beasts deserve, and I will hear the tales they have to tell of their barren homeland they fled and the hardships of their voyage here. They shall be my guests, and repay my largess and hospitality with evenings of stories!"

And then at last it was time for Korba to recite his first lines as Urgan Nagru, Fael regarding him with threatening expectancy while the ratmice closed in on him, their proximity that of plain intimidation rather than the theatrical camaraderie of an obedient rat horde rallying to their fox master. And, at last, Korba finally looked from the stage out to the watching audience … and then froze as solid as the ice of Nagru's far-northern home when his gaze fell upon the red-armored badger in the first row. For many moments everybeast else in the grand chamber seemed to disappear as the two former negotiating partners locked gazes and regarded each other, Korba with dread surprise and disquiet as to what Urthblood's presence here might portend, and the other with his typical cool, analytical demeanor.

"Line!" hissed an impatient Fael at the hidebound rat.

This prompt from his malefactor brought Korba back to himself, and back into character. Tearing his gaze away from Urthblood, the costumed searat turned to face Gael once more and, after less stammering than might have been expected from the non-theatrical rodent, managed to force out, "I, Urgan Nagru of the frozen north, thank you fer yer generosity, Yer Majesty. But now see my full three shiploads o' fightin' rats my deceit an' trickery allowed t' infiltrate Floret! This castle's mine now, an' ye're my hostage!"

More mice dressed and made up as rats stormed the stage from the side of the banquet hall, bearing with them Saqueena, clearly playing the part of Queen Serena. In her arms she cradled a stuffed toddler doll squirrel as a stand-in for their babe Truffen. "Help, prithee, help!" she wailed as her mock-tormentors encircled her with pretend brutality. "Who are these intruders to our home, and why do they threaten me and the tender Royal Prince so?"

Fael lay the back of one paw against his forehead in a display of despair. "Oh, these deceitful ruffians have taken my fair wife and beloved son hostage, holding them against my guaranteed good behavior! What else can I do now except cooperate? O fie and evil day!"

The otter playing Rabb Streambattle stepped up to the front of the dais. "Now must I atone for my colossal bad judgment in trusting these villains and allowin' them to overrun Floret an' hold hostage our Royal Family! Rescue them I will, so that our wise an' valiant King will be free to mount a counterattack to take back the castle, an' heartless Nagru can hold our Queen an' Prince over good Gael no longer! To me! Rally to me!"

Elbowing and shouldering and body-checking his way through the mouserats holding Saqueena/Serena, the otter grabbed hold of her and her inanimate babe - most respectfully, of course, since this was his actual Queen and not just a fellow actor - and turned to see the mouserats he'd scattered reforming to guard Fael against any such rescue. "Oh bilgerat! They are too many, an' the King lies in their grasp still! I must escape with the Queen an' Prince while I may, an' hope I might return some other time to liberate King Gael as well! Until then, we flee, we flee!"

And flee they did, right down the side steps of the dais and clear out of the ballroom. While they did so, stagepaws wheeled an immense tub of sloshing water out to the front of the audience and just below the dais, while others hastened onstage to set up a tall, freestanding A-frame ladder, practically knocking the lost-looking Korba out of the way and causing him to trip over the trailing, too-long wolf's pelt weighing him down. Fael didn't even pay the hapless ratfoxwolf any heed as he made a show of pantomiming his way free of the encircling mouserats and scaling the ladder to its very top.

"Lo, I have managed to elude my captors and escape to the top of the very highest tower of Floret! But now I am trapped here with nowhere to go and just a flimsy wooden hatch all that stands between me and death, or ignominious recapture, imprisonment and torture! What shall I do? Whatever am I to do?"

From behind Alex and Urthblood at the front table, scores of voices struck up an encouraging chant of, "Jump! Jump! Jump!"

Egged on in just the manner he'd desired, Fael stepped out of character once more to flash a knowing grin at the audience, letting them know he was all up for the acrobatics they demanded. Having discarded the unwieldy robes of his costume before ascending the ladder, the Squirrel King now perched on the top step and pointed at the tub below.

"The moat! So very very far below, a dizzying, death-defying distance! But, it is my only chance, my only hope! I must take it! Before this door gives way and those vile vermin break through, take it I must!"

And here Fael paused again, cocking an ear and holding his paw to it to elicit even greater reaction from the audience.

"Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!"

From off to the other side of the stage Nicholson Badger, his services as herald unneeded for the moment, served now as a different manner of herald, stroking out a long, low roll on an oversized drum and setting up a rumbling, anticipatory undercurrent of sound to presage the imminent feat of physical prowess.

Gathering himself, Fael crouched into a springing position and launched from the ladder, performing an adroit double-somersault as he tumbled downward to splash squarely dead-center into the waiting tub.

The audience erupted in a frenzy of applause, moments before Fael erupted from the tub with arms raised in triumphant satisfaction. Gripping the side of the tub with both paws, he flipped himself right out of it and onto the stone floor with a wet splat, and was immediately off and running for the exit, basking in the cheers and waving to his vocal admirers. As the noise subsided after Fael's departure from the hall, Alex heard somebeast behind him comment, "This is the second year he's used the tub. Proved so popular last year that he brought it back for an encore."

"Yes," came another voice in reply, "before that they used a trampoline, or just a crate of blue pillows and padding when they weren't feeling especially daring, tho' that was mostly Fael's father, King Mayael."

"Yes, but the use of real water to represent the moat is so much better. Adds a real note of realism to the show!"

Alex all but ignored this shallow pratter, staring after the departed Squirrel King. "That's it?" he muttered in disbelief. "That's the entire rescue and escape? What about Mariel and Dandin, who were the ones who got Gael out of his cell, and held off Nagru's soldiers, and got him out of the tower and out of the castle safely?"

Perhaps Urthblood heard Alexander's mumbled criticism, or perhaps he merely inferred what the squirrel was complaining about as he turned to the Redwaller. "If you suspect our royal host has a penchant for rewriting history to his own aggrandizement, such would not surprise me at all."

Only then did Alex notice that the red-cloaked representation of Joseph the Bellmaker had in all the confusion vanished from the stage as well, leaving the Mossflower Patrol chieftain to wonder whether any Redwallers would have any further part at all in this sorry excuse for an historical play.

Now left in sole command of the stage, Korba/Nagru turned to face the audience a second time, backed up by the mice playing the part of his rat followers while also making sure he stuck to the script. Once again, the rat locked gazes with Urthblood, uncertain whether to count the badger as a potential ally in his plight, or just another enemy on top of the ones he already had in Floret, holding him hostage and forcing him to portray the part of the villain in this theatrical production. Unable to determine Urthblood's standing as friend or foe here, Korba was left no recourse but to regard him as just another neutral member of the audience. The badger could see well enough for himself what was going on here and draw his own conclusions as to whether he approved of it or not, and whether it constituted a situation he might find advantageous to himself. Either way, Korda could do nothing about it from where he stood.

The searat tore his gaze from Urthblood and allowed his focus to go soft, staring out over the audience without fastening on any individual onlooker as he turned his concentration toward remembering the lines which, delivered satisfactorily, might spare him further punishment when this was all over. Drawing a deep breath, he launched into the prepared soliloquy which would represent his featured moment in this play.

"Curses! The King an' his family have escaped my wicked clutches, an' are no longer mine to terrorize an' control! But, no matter, for my rats an' I still hold Floret, an' from here we can rule over all Southsward! We'll brutalize an' oppress these worthless woodlander cowards inta submission, crack down on 'em 'til they're tremblin' with fear an' scared of their own shadows, an' then they'll know who th' real power in these lands is! An' we'll ferret out an' recover that insolent King an' his wife 'n' whelp too, an' make 'em all regret th' day they were born! Who rules Southsward now? Urgan Nagru an' his rat horde! An' don't let anybeast ferget that!"

"But somebeast seems to've forgotten all about his mate Silvamord. Who wrote this thing anyway?" Alex muttered to himself.

"Don't ferget about me, dearest!" came a cringe-inducing, high-pitched falsetto from the side of the stage as if in answer to Alexander's muted grumbling, and up onto the dais pranced none other than Jed Tester's fox sidekick Feyo Olayo, outfitted with exaggerated long eyelashes and his fur powder-puffed out to suggest femininity as much as the skirt and blouse he wore. The fox danced right through the parting mouserats to Korba's side, batting his eyes at the searat. "It's your true love Silver Mordd, who has stood at your side all the way from the frozen north to these warm climes, and daintily helped you murder and terrorize! If you are Floret's new king, then surely I am its queen!"

Alex groaned and sank in his seat. Up on stage, Korba's reaction to being paired with the over-the-top male fox was nearly as grudging, although he strove to suppress it.

"Of course, my precious! How could I ever hope to rule without your devoted support? My queen shall you be, sitting at my side as we crush these ingrates into the ground an' grind them under our heels!"

"Oh glee!" Feyo held out one paw, admiring his freshly-painted claws. "And will I get some of the little ones for playthings? You know how I enjoy working them over, tickling and torturing them, seeing what makes them laugh and what makes them scream. And a skirt of fluffy squirrelbabes' tails would be simply _adorable_! O please do say I can have one, Urgy, please do!"

"Urgy?" Alex repeated, barely able to believe his ears. Around and behind him the perennial Southsward attendees to these Liberation Day festivals erupted in their customary chorus of boos and catcalls over this staged diabolical nefariousness. This was only Olayo's second time as Silver Mordd, and his performance was much improved from his debut last year, eliciting just the kind of audience derision the part called for. And as for having an actual vermin playing Nagru as well, that simply made this the best presentation any of the onlookers could remember, and so what if Korba was a little on the short side for the role?

But then it was time for the dastardly villain to leave the stage, Feyo under his own initiative and the wolf-pelt-dragging Korba at the crowded, prodding behest of his mouserat escort. As they descended the dais, Korba tripping only once on his way down, Feal reappeared in a change of dry clothes and his drenched fur mopped down to a mere slick dampness. Accompanying the Royal squirrel was none other than Thrubble Thern, the otter guard captain's usual uniform traded for nautical garb and a criss-crossing double chest belt of throwing knives and an eyepatch over one eye. Alex immediately pegged Thern's role as that of Finnbarr Galedeep, a most colorful and memorable participant in this saga as he recalled the tale from its telling at Abbey school, and wondered whether the blade-bearing bandolero was, like Nagru's pelt, the original artifact from those times, once worn by the legendary sea otter himself.

Stumping up the stairs along with the squirrel and otter was a mole, dressed in an overcoat which reminded Alex of Lorr's and wearing a pair of reading spectacles. It took somewhat longer for the Redwaller to piece together in his mind that this must be the representation of Egbert the Scholar, since that academic diggerbeast wasn't nearly as flamboyant and hence didn't loom nearly as large in the old tales as the larger-than-life Finnbarr.

The trio came to stand at the center front of the stage, now cleared of both ladder and vermin (real and pretend) and went into a speechified consultation to which the entire audience would be privy.

"Ah, just the two allies I need to retake Floret, and rid Southsward of this fox and rat scourge once and for all!" Fael/Gael proclaimed most expositionally. "Skipper Finbarr, who has brought with him a crew of his fellow valiant seafarers, and who has helped gather up tribesbeasts from here to the shore to join us in this crusade! Mice, moles, hedgehogs, hares and my fellow squirrels all now stand united in the face of this menace, and resolute to overthrow and cast out these invaders of our fair lands and usurpers to the throne! And here, no less important, stands Egbert, the secretive librarian mole who knows all the secret ways into the castle and will be able to deliver our avenging army into the midst of the enemy by these secret ways! All in secret, of course! Come, friends, and let us launch our counterstrike to free the goodbeasts of these lands from tyranny! Let this be our Liberation Day!"

"Follow me, Your Majesty most high, and valiant nautical savior from the seas," the mole recited in perfect, non-molish speech as he held up an unlit lamp in one digging claw. "Long have I dwelt in the back chambers and hidden passages of Floret, undetected by anybeast fair or foul, and well have I memorized these clandestine corridors. Follow, follow, lo and follow!"

Going into exaggerated crouches to mimic egress through low and narrow tunnels, Fael and Thern followed the mole back and forth across the stage through make-believe twisting and turning passages, the smaller creature holding aloft his darkened lamp. At length they stopped and straightened to indicate they'd emerged from these clandestine ways into the actual halls of Floret. Fael shook the mole's claw in gratitude. "Thank you for your assistance, Scholarly Egbert! History will long remember your vital part in this day's events - why, you may even be featured in a commemorative play many generations from now! Go safeguard yourself and the Royal treasures you have rescued from the clutches of these despoiling villains, and leave the fighting to us. The time has come to take back what is ours!"

This bold proclamation elicited the latest round of cheering and applause from the audience as the mole ducked off the stage, only to be replaced by a dozen of the palace squirrel guard and a dozen of the mouserats, all of whom went into a fierce mock battle, sheathed blades and blunted spears clashing in a frenzy of carefully choreographed thrusts and stabs and parries and slashes. With so many bodies crowding the dais - some of them bodies in the literal sense, as their players slumped and fell in mock mortality - it was a melee of confusion and very hard for the eye to follow, just as a real battle might be in such close confines.

And there in the midst of it stood Fael/Gael and Thern/Finnbarr, back to back as they fended off all comers, exactly as the Squirrel King had never done in any version of these events Alex had ever heard. He also couldn't help but notice how, in spite of Fael's inclusive boast of Southsward's moles and mice and hedgehogs and hares uniting for this grand effort, the only heroic warriors up on the stage now, aside from Thrubble Thern, bore red fur and bushy tails. It seemed the current ruler of Floret preferred to keep the glory for his own species.

And then, much to Alexander's surprise, the tall step ladder was brought out once again, set up at the stage's edge directly above the giant wood tub, just as before. Into this arrangement entered Feyo Olayo once more, still sporting feminized fur and eyes and the garb of the fairer gender. Throwing up his paws in theatrical distress, the false vixen bewailed, "O Nagru my husband Nagru, our plans and schemes and ambitions unravel right before our eyes! The woodland rabble has invaded our home through secret ways, and now overcomes our rats in fierce battle - see how they fall! Surely we shall fall as well, unless we rally our remaining strength and flee! O husband, where are you? Abandon me not in this moment of terrible crisis, Nagru!"

But abandon the fox he did, with Korba remaining resolutely off the stage in accordance with the script, leaving Feyo no choice but to start scaling the ladder one tremulous step at a time as the vengeful squirrel guards closed in around him. Chased to the top just as Fael/Gael had been during his turn on the ladder, Feyo perched upon the highest step with paws to his muzzle. "Trapped in this high tower with nowhere to go! Doomed, I am doomed, my life to end at the sharp and pointy swordtips of this rebellious uprising! Only one way out do I have, so I will take this most desperate of measures, and escape the only way I can!"

Feyo eyed the tub of water warily, preparing himself for his own plunge, then thought better of it and descended the ladder by several rungs, making his target harder to miss. Not being a squirrel or any manner of acrobatic species, the fox clearly wanted to better his chances of hitting the tub square-on. Showing the same clumsy lack of grace likely displayed by the real Silvamord so many generations before, he pushed off for a hesitant, footpaws-first jump into the tub, avoiding untoward calamity by landing in the water with a fountainous splash. The maneuver failed to generate the applause or cheering of Fael's spectacular somersault, although that would come moments later as Feyo recited his final lines.

The fox struggled back up to the surface with a desperate thrashing that cast water out onto the floor in all directions - or at least he pretended to struggle, since in truth he could have stood in the tub with the water coming barely up to his chest. "Help, I cannot swim! Help me, somebeast, save me! This moat is too deep! I am drowning! Glug glug glug!" And with that Feyo drew a deep breath and disappeared beneath the water, never to be seen again in this production as the audience boisterously voiced their approval of the dastardly vixen's fate.

Or, very nearly never to be seen again, for as the stagepaws bustled to push the tub back to the side and out of sight, Feyo's breath finally gave out and he broke the surface a second time, hanging over the side of the tub and gasping for air. The audience, amused, did their best to ignore the miraculously undrowned vixen and focus their attention back on the stage, where Fael had struck yet another heroic pose.

"Half the diabolical duo is dispatched! Now to deliver justice to Urgan Nagru himself, and purge Southsward of the shadow of tyranny once and for all! Come to us, impossible foxwolf! You cannot elude your fatal fate very much longer!"

Alex muttered to himself, "Oh great - I wonder how he's rewritten _this_ bit of history!"

As it turned out, this final act of the Liberation Day pageant would hew far closer to historical accuracy than much of what preceded it, and unnervingly so. Korba reappeared onstage and, after exchanging a few lines with Fael to establish he was in fact no longer in Floret, having been chased from the castle by the woodlanders, he and his mouserat handlers ran from side to side across the dais in a simulation of pursuit, until at last he found his way blocked by Thern/Finnbarr. After a brief scuffle during which Korba pretended to rake his steel claws across the otter's back - which, of course, he could not do, being too small of stature to effectively control the wolf pelt draped about him - Thern picked him up bodily and held the rat aloft, horizontal to the stage at waist level.

Alexander straightened in his seat, a sense of foreboding dread welling up within him as his gaze went from the malicious half-snarl on Thern's face, far too authentic to be a mere part of the act, to the lethal, red-stained wolf's fangs in the pelt crown above Korba's skull, to the prop trees at either side of the stage, far thicker and more substantial than they needed to be to serve their function as mere scenery. Those plaster trees were designed to stand firm and unyielding against a heavy blow or impact, nearly as much as a real tree would.

Almost without realizing it, Alex reached out to grab Urthblood's arm, drawing the badger's attention. "They're going to kill that rat! Right here, in front of everybeast!"

A note of concern crept into Urthblood's stoic demeanor. "I suspect you may be correct."

At the stage's edge, Fael once against stood looking not at his fellow players but straight out at the Redwaller and Badger Lord with his knowing, superior expression, as if daring them to interfere with what was about to transpire.

With a roar, Thern charged toward the stolid tree prop at stage right, holding Korba aloft like a battering ram, the rat's head aimed squarely at the unyielding column.

Alex rose from his seat, unable to contain himself. " _Stop!_ " he yelled in a tone of frantic command his own squirrels might have been surprised to hear from him but no doubt would have obeyed without question. All around him, their immersion in this play disrupted and their suspension of disbelief thwarted, audience members looked to the Redwaller with sour disdain over this unseemly outburst.

But perhaps his protest had worked, for up on the stage Thern had halted with just a single pace between him and the tree, looking not to Alex but to Fael, as if awaiting some signal from the Squirrel King. Fael, with an air of cool detachment, raised his arm with fist clenched and pawthumb extended. After a dramatic pause, he tipped his paw ever-so-slightly into a thumbs-up position. Thern, catching this gesture, hauled the quivering Korba back to smash his deadly fang-adorned headpiece into the tree.

Alexander's breath caught in his throat.

And then …

 _TAP._

Korba's headdress connected with the prop tree with the lightest of bumps, scarcely enough to have made even a babe cry. When Thern then dropped the rat to the boards, he leaned down and whispered to the seavermin, "Yore dead now, 'Nagru' … so just lie still an' don't move a muscle!"

Thern strode from the prostrate Korba to the edge of the stage, superseding Fael for the moment. "Aye, the Urgan Nagru lies slain, skull pierced by th' very fangs he wore to intimidate others. But lo, th' wounds he gave me in our final clash're mortal ones, an' now I too, Finnbarr Galedeep of th' vast an' open oceans, die as well. But peaceful shall I rest in my eternal slumber, knowin' my sacrifice was in aid to the valiant an' brave Gael Squirrelking, an' helped rid his peaceable kingdom of this vermin threat ferever!"

Thern lay down, joining Korba in pretend death, and many in the audience wept for him as they hadn't for the wicked foxwolf, struggling to remain still toward the right side of the stage. Fael stepped over his otter captain to deliver his stirring epilogue as Saqueena joined him onstage, still clutching the doll to represent Gael's babe Truffen.

"And thus was Southsward saved on that very first Liberation Day all those generations ago! With the assistance of the brave Finnbarr did my illustrious forebear Gael, greatest of all Squirrel Kings, rouse the good creatures of the lands and vanquish the vile conqueror who held us all in thrall to his evil ambition. Oh, and there may have been some Redwallers involved too. Thank you all for coming. Now let the feasting commence!"

The audience rose to its feet with cheers and applause and other laudatory behavior. The mice, no longer playing the part of rats, surrounded Korba and marched him off the stage and out of the Grand Hall, Urthblood's gaze keenly following after the searat until Korba disappeared from view.

Fael bounded down from the stage and sauntered right up to the front table. "Nice little outburst at the climax there," he chided Alex. "You didn't _really_ think I was going to kill that rat, did you?"

"The possibility did cross my mind, yes," Alex bit off stiffly.

"Oh, how little you must think of me! I must do a better job of making myself more favorable in your eyes, mustn't I?"

"That rat is known to me," Urthblood told Fael. "I have treated with him at the bargaining table, so I can only assume he also headed the searat delegation to Floret as well. I will want to speak with him, and before very much longer, Your Majesty."

"Not until after you've spoken with me first, Lord."

"Are we not speaking now?"

"Oh ha ha. You are a big red rip. Perhaps I shall ask you to stay on to join Jed and Feyo in their routines; you would make an excellent target for pies." Fael turned to Alex. "So, what did you think of our little pageant, Chieftain?"

"I think you may have left out a few important things, Your Majesty. 'There may have been some Redwallers involved?' And you didn't even mention the Guosim."

"The what now?"

"The Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. One of their number, Fatch, was slain in these very halls fighting Nagru and Silvamord."

"Just one, from an entire tribe? Can't have made a very important contribution to our victory then, can they? Little wonder I never heard of them."

"Well, I'm sure there were more than just him," Alex said somewhat testily. "I don't have the names of all their casualties from that long-ago battle committed to memory. And why did you even bother having Joseph the Bellmaker in the opening scene at all, if you weren't going to bring him back or refer to him again at all?"

"Because that red cloak was just going to waste, and too good not to use. Rather eye-catching, wasn't it?"

Alex scowled. "Joseph's daughter Mariel and her Redwall companion Dandin played a far bigger role in fighting Nagru directly than Joseph did - including helping Gael escape from Floret. Leaving them out was a travesty … Your Majesty."

"Hmm. If you find such fault with our rendition of the events of what are, after all, our own lands, feel free to mount your own production at Redwall, and infuse it with all your Abbey biases. Perhaps I might even venture there to see such a thing myself, although most likely not."

"Where did you take Viceroy Korba just now?" Urthblood asked. "Where have you been keeping him, and the other rats of his delegation, Your Majesty?"

Fael turned a sour eye on the badger. "Keep pushing, Lord, and I'll have my guards show you to his accommodations for you to share them."

"He didn't look like he'd exactly volunteered to play that role," Alex remarked.

Fael flashed a smile. "Yes, it's always amazing what a little of the right kind of incentive can accomplish, isn't it?"

"And what of that wolf pelt he wore?" the Redwall squirrel inquired. "I take it that was the actual hide worn by the real Urgan Nagru? How have you managed to preserve it intact for all these generations?"

"Not too hard, when you only break it out once every four seasons. We keep it down in the lower levels where extremes of heat and cold and moisture reach it not. My Royal Costumer Perkens Belder looks after it well, just as all the previous costumers before her have done."

"Royal … Costumer?" Alex looked at Fael blankly. "You mean, the one who helps you and the Queen and your son and daughters with your daily outfits?"

"Of course not. Don't be silly. Visco DeGeyter is our Royal Dresser for such needs. Two totally different and distinct occupations and specialties. Pretty Perkens tends the costumes for our theatrical presentations. We hold them throughout the changes of seasons, you know. Liberation Day might be our most celebrated pageant, but it's far from the only one. Our Court Playwright, Kedwyn Wembo, keeps us in works to perform all year long!"

"Yes, I'm sure he does. By the way, who did you get to play Egbert the Scholar? He did a very good non-mole accent."

"Oh, you mean Egbert."

"Yes. Who played him?"

"Egbert."

"No, Majesty, not the part, but the player. Who played Egbert?"

"That would be … Egbert."

Alex gave another blank stare. "Egbert played Egbert?"

Fael grinned. "Egbert the Twenty-Seventh, to be precise. Nobeast's sure whether he's a genuine descendant of the original Egbert, although he claims to be. But he's got the accent - or rather, lack thereof - to fit the bill as well as the role, which is lucky for him, since I could never have a Court Librarian who spoke like ordinary moles. Bad enough I have to put up with such from Jonty Goffo, my Royal Caretaker."

"Sire, do you ever lose track of the names of all the beasts you have working for you here?"

Fael gave Alex a peculiar look. "No. Of course not. Do _you_ ever lose track of all the beasts living with you at Redwall?"

Alex hesitated before answering, remembering all the freed woodlander slaves who'd arrived at their gates on their own pageant day, and all the rat refugees Latura had guided their way as well. "These days, Your Majesty, I just might."

"Ah. Well, there's your problem. I must be off now to see to some of my other guests; you're not the only visitors I have staying at Floret currently, as you may have noticed."

As Fael all but flounced off with fluffs of superiority and dismissiveness, Abellon said, "Yeah, with so many guests here for this festival, why _is_ he lavishing so much attention on us? Giving us this prime spot at the front table, an' making us the first ones he comes over to talk to after the play?"

"Not to mention some of the looks he shot us during the performance itself," Witko put in.

"The answer to that is obvious, if a bit convoluted," Urthblood answered. "Alexander is the first Redwaller to visit Floret since the time of Gael himself, and I might well be the first Badger Lord to ever grace the Royal Court. These factors alone make our presence here unique and noteworthy, as does our arrival at the time of these celebrations, but more than that is what is going on between me and Tratton. Twice this season has Floret now received emissaries from the wider world beyond Southsward, representatives of great powers seeking alliance with these lands. We have seen enough of Fael to know that he treats everything as a game, and now he plays a diplomatic game with us. Perhaps Viceroy Korba had already been slated to play Urgan Nagru before our arrival, but I cannot help but feel his part was arranged to give him special prominence in light of our own presence. Fael was displaying what fate may be met by diplomats who fall out of his favor, and that final act where he seemed to decide on the spur of the moment whether Korba was to live or die, while no doubt determined far in advance, was no doubt staged to underscore the interplay between the powers at play here - Tratton against myself, with Fael in the middle standing as the ultimate arbiter of which side shall persevere … if any."

Abellon and Witko both practically sputtered at this suggestion. "Why … he couldn't possibly side with Tratton over you, could he?" the mouse captain said. "A bloodthirsty Searat King over a - "

"Over a scheming, deceitful, would-be tyrant in red armor?" Alex cut in. "Perhaps our royal host is more astute than you give him credit for."

Abellon and Witko glowered at the Abbey squirrel while Urthblood ignored him. "It may be that Fael will choose an alliance with neither of us, and send us away unfulfilled … or at least send me away. I am not certain Korba will ever see freedom again."

"You don't suppose he'd try something like that with us, do you?" Witko worried. "Twice now I've heard him hint at showing you his dungeons … and not in the good way."

"I doubt it will come to that. In fact, if His Majesty decides to spurn me, I suspect he will not be able to get me on my way out of Southsward quickly enough to suit his tastes. No, my chief concern right now must be to ensure he enters into no agreement with Tratton instead of me, as unlikely a prospect as that might appear at the moment."

"You don't think he'd really … do that, do you, Lord?" Abellon asked. "With Tratton's high-rankin' envoy being held under duress, forced to act in costume dramas against his will? That'd almost be grounds for war between Tratton and Southsward, not for any sort of peace between them."

"One might think so, Captain. But Fael has shown himself to be unpredictable, and not even I can anticipate his next move. But whatever it is, we may well be bound to it, with very little room to counter. He is King here, after all."


	32. Chapter XXXI

**XXXI.**

 **FOXGUARD**

"This is intolerable," Mona and Joska said simultaneously to their respective dogfoxes.

Mona and Tolar stood atop Foxguard's perimeter wall, gazing down into the fortress grounds, and specifically toward where Joska conspired with Jaffox. "Intolerable in what way?" the fox Sword wryly inquired of his longtime mate. "I seem to recall you, not so very long ago, taking Sappakit's side that maybe having vixens here might not be such a bad idea."

"Yes, but not _those_ vixens! And most especially not _that_ one!"

"Not getting along with Joska, are we?"

"Tolar, you asked me to spend time with them, to ingratiate myself to them as only a fellow vixen could, and this I've done … for you, and for Foxguard. She didn't even try to pretend or force a friendly face for me; we blend like oil and water. It's clear she sees me as her competitor, and has no interest in a cordial relationship with me."

"Hm. That's actually the opposite of what I'd expected. If this Joska were smart, she'd be cozying up to you, seeking your favor to improve her own standing. She must realize you are the most important and influential vixen at Foxguard, and your opinion of her carries much weight."

"Before she came here, I was the _only_ vixen at Foxguard. Which makes me the one thing standing in her way. And that's how I think she plans to play this, Tolar. She routinely sees Jaffox flouting your authority, and because of that believes she can flout mine as well, such as it is. Who knows what Jaffox has been telling her? She may actually imagine he might replace you as chief of Foxguard - which would make her top vixen here, as long as she remains attached to him like she is."

"Well, that's not going to happen."

"It might not even need to happen for this to become a crisis. There's ambition in that vixen, perhaps more than Jaffox carries in his own breast. He might be content to remain merely a thorn in your side, disobeying and disregarding you while he works with Custis on the Purge as Lord Urthblood ordered him to, but Joska might spur him on to more actively challenge your command here. The two of them together are far worse than either alone. She has staked her future on him, and I suspect she expects more from that partnership than she has gained so far."

Tolar turned an affectionate yet firm gaze on Mona. "Joska may have Jaffox as her champion … but you have Foxguard's Sword as yours, and I still command the brigade."

"Will that be enough, Tolar? Jaffox not only has his own ruffians from the North and the backing of the Gawtrybe, but now he's got this valley horde as well. If he gets it into his mind to directly challenge you - to overthrow you - your brigade might not be enough to hold against such an insurrection, especially if he resorts to treachery, which we both know Jaffox often favors. And I know just the vixen who would plant such an idea in his mind."

Tolar shook his head. "No. I do not see it going that far. For all his faults, we can still count on Jaffox to remain loyal to Lord Urthblood. I know that fox well enough to be sure of at least that much. And his orders were to serve as my official second-in-command. To move against me as you suggest would entail him disobeying Lord Urthblood as well, and he would not do that."

"His orders that he showed US, you mean. What if he has additional orders - secret orders? What if Lord Urthblood has in truth ordered Jaffox to replace you?"

"No. No, that could not be. Foxguard is the stronghold of Lord Urthblood's swordfox brigade. He even sent Trelayne here this past season on special assignment to erect a memorial to our founding Sword Machus. Jaffox lacks both the skill and the discipline - not to mention the temperament - to lead Foxguard. That could never happen."

"Maybe not permanently. But we both know how important this campaign is to our badger master. He even fought a battle with Redwall over it, all for the sake of one rat. And Custis made it clear to him that you are not cooperating with his efforts, at least in his view. Can you say with absolute certainty that Lord Urthblood would not supplant you for Jaffox, at least until all the rats are cleared from this region of Mossflower?"

Tolar turned away from Mona, away from his inner grounds, and turned his gaze outward to wider Mossflower, resting his folded arms on the curving battlements. When he replied, his voice was so low that she could barely hear him.

"If that is truly Lord Urthblood's will, then I would have no choice but to abide by it, wouldn't I?"

Mona's response was one step short of a growl, showing an agitation not at all typical for her. "It's not right. It's not right to do to you, and not right to do to your brigade, or to Foxguard, or to Mossflower. You and I, and the foxes under you, have all given far too much to Urthblood's cause over the seasons to be dismissed in so shoddy a manner. You've earned respect, and I would urge you to demand what is only your fair due."

"Demand it how? We both owe Lord Urthblood a great deal. This fortress … the honor of this brigade … your opportunities to study and expand your healing craft, making yourself one of the most important members of his Northland campaigns. Honor goes both ways, Mona, and I am honor-bound to carry out his wishes, whatever they may be."

"Yes, I … I suppose you are right. Still, it is quite the position His Lordship has put us in. Bad enough that we have Jaffox to deal with, but now that he's brought this horde and its vixens into the mix as well … "

"At least my debriefing of their top ferret Bryn didn't go too badly. Seems like a fairly level-headed type, who found himself a bit overwhelmed by circumstances. I get the feeling he ended up with control of the horde by default, with all the other worthy candidates either dying or abandoning the valley. I half-suspect he was only too happy to yield command of the horde to Jaffox. Oh, and he's clearly none too fond of Joska either - always thought she was a total fraud as a seer, and more adept as an assassin than a legitimate healerbeast."

"Yes, well, we already knew the worst of that vixen from what the rats told us at Redwall. What was it their general said? 'Hemlock 'n' nightshade, hemlock 'n' nightshade' … her standard go-to solution for any problematic creatures. Best keep her far away from our food and drink, in case she decides we're 'problematic' as well. That's something she might take upon herself, without even consulting Jaffox."

"Already done. Our cooks know not to let any of her vixens anywhere near the kitchens, and I've got guards unobtrusively watching the larders and beverage stores … not to mention shadowing them and keeping an eye on them wherever they go."

"That's going to become a greater challenge as more and more of those vixens attach themselves to our swordfoxes. Dijax, Remillard and Dalkeith have already taken bedmates, and I deem Sappakit only refrains so far out of deference to you. Others are sure to follow, and as those vixens fully integrate themselves into our brigade they will surely increase their hold and influence over Foxguard … which is to say Joska's hold and influence, since her sisters are far from the only ones who take their lead from her."

"That's why I'm only allowing veteran members of the brigade to take vixens for themselves - which is what I would have done anyway, even had this pool of candidates come from a more trustworthy source. They know to stay sharp and keep their wits about them even as they enjoy the benefits of their rank and length of service. They know what's at stake, and contrary to your concerns, this will actually help us monitor the situation. We'll be getting to know these vixens even as they're, ah, getting to know us, and that might give us some additional leverage over them."

"Unless Joska's long-term plan is to eventually pair up every senior member of the brigade with a vixen, and then order her minions to slip a blade between their ribs or in their throats all on the same night. Take out the entire higher command structure of Foxguard at one go."

"Then my foxes will just have to be extra-diligent to check their nocturnal partners for hidden blades. But I think you're worrying about the wrong thing. Joska and her sisters may be conniving and bloodthirsty enough to hatch such a scheme, but I warrant many of the other vixens will view their attachment to proper soldierbeasts as a big step up from where they came from, and not want to jeopardize their new privilege. Far from wishing harm on their new companions, they'll want to keep things just the way they are now."

"A hopeful way of seeing the situation. At least we've been able to keep all the fighters of the horde outside. You said their leader has a low opinion of Joska? Might we be able to use that somehow, win him to our side as a counterbalance to Jaffox and Joska?"

Tolar shook his head. "Jaffox followed all the proper protocols in bringing that horde in, from immediately establishing his authority over them and instituting a new command hierarchy to taking them right into the field and into battle, cementing his hold on them. I'm afraid Bryn is now bound to Jaffox, or at least more bound to him than he'll ever be to me. And I also suspect he's grateful to Jaffox for relieving him of Joska. No, I'm afraid we can expect no help from that quarter."

"So, what do we do now?"

"We focus on where the true problem lies - Jaffox and Joska. Bryn would never act against us on his own, and Jaffox is, after all, still officially subordinate to me. Bringing Joska here may have been his idea, but she's the one with the potential to stir things up even more than he might have planned on." Tolar turned to face the inner yards of the fortress again, his gaze going from Jaffox and Joska to where his swordfoxes drilled on another part of the grounds. "And I think it's high time I lay down the law to my new second-in-command, and let him know in no uncertain terms just what's expected of any fox assigned to this fortress. Maybe if Joska sees that big brute put in his place and humiliated by soldiers who actually know how to wield their blades in an expert manner, some of his sheen might wear off for her and she might start having second thoughts about hitching her fortunes to his own fate."

"What are you going to do, Tolar?"

"Remind them both who's Sword here. Foxes under my command drill, and I don't see Jaffox or any of his crew drilling. Time to rectify that situation."

"Be careful. There's danger here. I can feel it."

Tolar pulled away from the battlements, making to start off toward the nearest wall stairs. "It's out in the open in broad daylight, and I'll have my entire brigade at my back. Why do you think I've chosen this moment? Jaffox won't dare start anything, because he knows if he does, my swordfoxes and I will end it."

"It's not how he reacts in plain sight under the bright sun that worries me, Tolar, but what retaliation he might seek to take in the shadowed recesses of the dead of night."

Tolar seemed unconcerned by his mate's reservations. "Then we'll light lots of lamps and lanterns, and leave no shadowed recesses where they can lurk."

Meanwhile, as Tolar and Mona had discussed these matters up on the walltop, Jaffox and Joska held a mirror conversation of their own down below, away from where any swordfox ears could listen in.

"Intolerable, y' say? Intolerable in what way?"

Joska bristled at the dogfox. "They don't trust me - not either of 'em! T'was bad enuff when that black-clad stiff took me up in his office an' gave me the interrogation of my life, but now he's got that dainty vix of his nosing around pokin' her snout into our affairs too, tryin' to make nice with me 'n' my sisters and the other vixens. We'll not be able to step so much as one footpaw out of line or put one whisker awry without 'em catching it!"

"Then mind yer paws 'n' whiskers, an' bide yer time like I been tellin' ya. 'Cos time's on our side. Things'll come around, you just trust me on that. Last thing we want is fer you or yer sisters t' go doin' anything stupid."

Joska scowled. "Stupid like what?"

"Like this talk o' hemlock an' nightshade you been whisp'rin' in my ear at night. That'd be too obvious, an' likely cost you yer head - an' mebbe cost me mine too, if they thought I was part of it. Besides, that Mona's practically a witch when it comes to th' healin' arts. Got a sixth sense about 'er, she does. She'd know if y' tried t' poison anybeast, an' whip up some concoction t' save 'em - an' then it'd be all up fer us."

"Not if we take her out first."

Jaffox regarded his would-be coconspirator dourly. "Aw, now who could think such dark thoughts 'gainst a pretty li'l thing like Mona? Naw, we'll do it my way, an' keep both our heads."

"And just what is your way again? Didn't that badger king o' yours give you leave to replace Tolar if you saw fit? What're you waiting for? You just say the word to your squirrel pals an' your own foxes, and it's a done deal!"

"Don't work like that, sweetie. Tolar'd hafta do sumpthin' mighty egregious, step _way_ outta line, 'fore I could invoke that clause an' relieve him of command o' Foxguard. Just 'cos I don't always follow his orders or do as he says don't mean I can just take over this place anytime I want. Certain forms need t' be obeyed here, so obey them we will."

"And in the meantime, what? Subject ourselves to the indignity and suspicions of these swordfancies? Suffer along as second-class creatures in the stronghold where you said we'd be on top?"

"I don't see you sufferin' too much, vixen. An' three of these 'swordfancies' have already taken vixens fer themselves, with more t' come, no doubt. It's all fallin' inta place. You'll make yerselves indispensable to 'em, so that they come t' think they can't get by without you, an' then they'll dare not kick you out. An' then we'll have 'em where we want 'em."

Joska snorted. "Both Iskra and Imara have been working their wiles on that second Sword under th' top one, an' - "

"I'm second Sword 'round 'ere, not Sappakit," Jaffox pointedly reminded his partner.

"Yes, yes, whatever. Anyways, they've been wooing him, an' he's spurned all their advances."

"I thought one o' yer sisters was s'posed t' be real good at hypnotizin' an' bewitchin' beasts t' obey her will?"

"Yes, Imara. She's even better at it than I am, a genuine talent. But Sappakit's resisted even that. Startin' to think he's the real cold fish 'round here, not his boss."

Jaffox smirked. "Naw, Tolar's no cold fish - not with Mona warmin' him up nights. Tho' I've heard tell she might be spreadin' her affections out to more'n one dog these days!"

"You mean that glass tinkerer down in the cellars? Aye, they do seem to spend a lot of time together, don't they? Do you suppose this is anything we can exploit? Put a vixen between Mona and Mister Glassfox, or maybe even between Mona and her Sword?"

Jaffox eyed Joska. "Thinkin' of ditchin' me an' tradin' up fer yerself, are we?"

Joska feigned affront. "Where would I ever find a devious soul more perfectly matched to my own? Besides, that fox doesn't trust me, and never will - or my sisters either. I was thinking of one of the more innocent-seeming candidates from our harem."

"Oh, so it's a harem we got now?"

"Well, isn't it? You're certainly using 'em like it - even stripping some of Krayne's fighters of their mates to use 'em this way instead. A bold and risky move - and one you'd better make pay off, if you don't want enemies at both your front and back."

"That rabble doesn't bother me; I could take on any two of 'em at once, after seein' how they carry themselves in th' field. As fer yer idea, I don't see anything comin' of it. Mona may be spendin' lots of her days downstairs with Kissy-face, but Tolar's still got her fer th' nights, an' I don't see neither of 'em givin' up the other. Which leaves that pipsqueak glassmaker inconsequential, an' not worth botherin' with. An' concernin' Sappakit, you an' yer sisters're bein' too obvious 'bout it. He'll never take either of 'em into 'is heart; he trusts 'em no more'n Tolar does, an' sees through their ruses. But Sapp's chompin' at th' bark t' join in the fun, I can tell he is. We just hafta find th' right vix t' suit him, is all. Once ee's matched up an' happy, things'll start goin' a lot more our way, just you wait an' see."

"And where does that leave Iskra and Imara? My sisters deserve better than some second-rate enlisted soldier types. And don't even suggest they settle for any of _your_ brutes."

"Not every senior swordfox of Tolar's brigade is spoken for yet. We'll find worthy matches for 'em - an' not ev'ry worthwhile swordswinger's a veteran, neither. Got my eye on one in particular who'd be a prime catch - youthful an' handsome, unlike me, an' way too genuine fer 'is own good. Not here at Foxguard - out playin' escort to a bunny, of all things - but we get that one fixed up with one o' yer sisters once he's back, an' that'd be a win fer ev'rybeast - 'ceptin' Tolar, o' course."

"Hmm. Doesn't help that there's no private chambers for our uses, with everyfox bunked up two or more to a room. Even you're still sharing with another. Pretty awkward, for what we're trying to do here."

"Aw, old Haddican's more'n happy t' give us our alone time whenever we need. Think he's even standin' extra watches these days, t' keep 'imself outta our fur."

"I wasn't talking about just us. Throwing vixens around at any partner who'll take 'em would be a lot more enticing an offer if the sleeping quarters here weren't all shared like they are."

"Well, like you said, Foxguard wasn't set up fer such things - which ain't natural, makin' red-blooded male fighterbeasts do without what red-blooded males need. Lord Urthblood an' Tolar can talk all they want 'bout dedercashun 'n' discipline 'n' distraction, but look how quick these dogs were t' spark up to what we had t' offer once we laid it all out before 'em. So, while the accommerdations might not be th' most accommodatin' fer such activities, you see 'em makin' whatever adjustments they need t' get it done. There's no fightin' nature when nature takes 'er course, is there?"

"None of which answers my question: How long must we wait until we're on top, an' not the subject of scorn an' suspicion?"

Jaffox gave Joska a lascivious grin. "You c'n be on top o' me anytime you want, vixen."

She scowled. "Not sure which is worse, your lust or Tolar's indictments."

"Aw, I think I know which you find worse. Y' ain't turned down any cozy-up time with me yet!"

"And what about when you and your foxes are away? I've heard you an' others say you'll be headin' out again for more rat-catchin'."

"Aye, that we will. It's what Lord Urthblood called us down from th' North for."

"I thought it was to turn the screws on Tolar, an' replace him if you saw fit."

"Diff'rent sides of th' same Realm, m'dear. Only reason I carry what authority I do here's 'cos the Gawtrybe're on my side, an' they're countin' on me t' help 'em with this campaign. If me 'n' they decide Tolar's holdin' us up too much with the Purge, not bein' the team player he needs t' be or standin' in our way, well mebbe then I can relieve him o' command of Foxguard. But only if the Gawtrybe back me up an' agree with me that such action's necessary. If I try'n do it on my own, fer my own ends, I could find myself against them an' Tolar both. So yah, I gotta go catch rats when those treejumpers ask me to."

"Which leaves me and my sisters here alone, and at Tolar's mercy."

"Ye're all welcome t' join me in the field, m'dear. See how an honest fighter gets things done when th' steels meets th' meat."

Joska grimaced. "Faced with that choice, I daresay I'd choose Tolar's bald recriminations over your butchery. Unlike our pretty Mona, I'm not so obsessed a healerbeast that I savor the sights of other creatures' insides."

"I only butcher those with the poor sense to oppose me. They do what I says, they get t' keep all their parts, an' all their blood inside 'em where it belongs."

Joska shuddered. Yes, Jaffox was worse than Krayne - far worse. But with that more depraved barbarism came a confident power not even her former would-be Emperor could have matched. Jaffox might in one sense be just some badger's lackey, but in another he was a commander who ruled others as Krayne had only wished he could. Jaffox knew his place … but that place was as much as he decided to claim for himself, all in the service of Urthblood.

"But don't worry yer liddle red head about it, Josk. We've done all our rat-catchin' that needed doin' in the far north o' Mossflower, sweepin' that region clear o' them skintails, an' th' Gawtrybe're still up that way takin' care o' th' rest. Which means all my further forays for this campaign oughta keep me much closer t' home, 'specially since we now got Cap'n Choock's shrews here t' serve as ferrybeasts an' boat-builders. Could be most o' my remainin' duties will keep me right here at Foxguard, overseein' the transfer o' captured rats to their barges. So ye'll just hafta not miss me quite so much as you feared."

"Well, that's … good, then." Joska's gaze went across the lawns, to where she saw Tolar approaching from the direction of the outer wall. "Huh, speak of th' devil. Wonder what he wants now."

The Sword stepped right up to his unwanted new second-in-command. "It's drilling time, Jaffox."

The big dogfox's eyebrows lifted in amusement. "Is it really now?"

"Yes, it is. All fox fighters at Foxguard are bound to participate in battle drills. Standing protocol. I've been very lax in enforcing this rule out of deference to your newness to our home, but now that you and your foxes have had ample opportunity to settle in, it's high time your joined us."

"Case you ain't o' noticed, Sword, I drill my lads in my own way. You stick with what works fer yers, an' I'll stick with mine."

"It wasn't a request."

Jaffox's air of bemusement evaporated. "Ye're serious?"

"Either you're my second-in-command, or you're not. If you insist on placing yourself outside my command structure, I will kindly ask that you vacate yourself from this stronghold. Otherwise, you will henceforth be subject to the same rules that apply to every fox soldier assigned to Foxguard. And those rules include mandatory drilling."

Joska fixed her gaze on the big fox, curious to see how this test of wills would play out. From what she'd heard from Bryn and others, Jaffox wielded his blade like a berserker, not to be denied by any creature. Then again, what she'd seen of Tolar's brigade had revealed swordplay of such exacting, skilled finesse as she had never witnessed nor even imagined from any living beast. In a match between the two - insane brute force against unparalleled battle prowess - she couldn't even begin to guess which would prevail.

Jaffox turned a wicked grin on Tolar. "Lemme put it this way: When Custis was with you here, did you expect _him_ to follow all yer silly rules? I'm his special consultant on the Purge, so I claim the same as he did."

"Custis was not a fox. Custis was not named my specific second-in-command by Lord Urthblood's direct decree, as you were. You are a fox at Foxguard, you are under my command. You and your foxes _will_ drill, or I will have you expelled from Foxguard for insubordination and for failure to meet the basic requirements of this brigade."

Jaffox's smile disappeared altogether. "I could just ignore you, y' know."

"Yes, you could. But if you refuse to conform to the letter and spirit of Lord Urthblood's directives, I will consider myself freed to do the same, and reappoint Sappakit as my second-in-command. You will be removed from my chain of command, and receive no further cooperation from me and my foxes until Lord Urthblood advises on the situation."

Jaffox's lack-of-smile turned to something grimmer. "Like t' hear what Custis has t' say to that."

"Custis does not command Foxguard - I do. If he has a problem with any of this, he can take it up with me personally. You do not speak for him any more than you speak for me."

Joska entered the conversation then, taking the stance she imagined would best bolster her new champion. "If you expel Jaffox, I'll go with him - and so will all my vixens. That won't leave your brigade very happy, will it?"

Tolar skewered her with his gaze. "If they've become so dependent on your wenches after so little time, that only speaks to the fact that none of you should have been allowed here in the first place. We got along fine before you arrived; we'll get along just as well after you're gone."

"Okay," Jaffox said to Tolar. "Ye're on. My squad's blade skills 'gainst yers. We may be a little rusty, an' not as delicate as ye're used to, but then mebbe we could teach you a trick or two after our own style. Lemme go muster my forces, Sword - an' then we'll see what kinda show this turns out to be!" He cast a glance toward where Mona looked on from the low walltop. "Best keep yer pet up there standin' ready; way we do things in th' North, there may well be blood!"

Tolar refused to be baited or intimidated. "In case you'd forgotten, I'm from the Northlands too. We'll be waiting for you on the drilling patch. Whenever you're ready."


	33. Chapter XXXII

**XXXII.**

 **FOXGUARD**

It was Sourbill's turn to fly out to Foxguard.

A number of days had passed since the last Sparra excursion to the fox fortress, the Abbey leaders and their sparrow allies more concerned with keeping an eye on things at the quarry with daily flights there, and so the return of Jaffox with his new horde and cadre of vixens had thus far gone unnoticed by the Redwallers … as had the pullback of Captain Choock's shrews to the stronghold as well.

All in all, it gave the ranging bird scout quite a bit to look at once he reached his destination.

Sourbill circled high over Foxguard, surveying the panoply of creatures arrayed below. Within the walls of the fortress itself he noted the usual activity of drilling and milling and lounging and sentry-keeping beasts; if anything, the departure of most of the Gawtrybe had left Foxguard less crowded than before, but Sourbill's keen eyes could pick out foxes on the parade ground who did not belong there, garbed not in the crisp black of Tolar's brigade but in the patchwork, mismatched garb of traditional vermin raiders. Abbess Vanessa and Colonel Clewiston had instructed him to specifically be on the lookout for such a thing, and now here it was. If the sparrow had turned around and flown right back to Redwall with news of this observation, that alone would have justified his foray across the Moss. As it turned out, that was just the beginning of what there was to see here.

North of the outer defensive wall, a hundred or more foxes, weasels, stoats and ferrets camped in the clearing there between fortress and forest, clearly now attached to Foxguard even as their position left them pointedly excluded from the activities within. To the south lay a much smaller encampment of several dozen shrews, many of whom appeared engaged in boat-building labors along the riverbank and canal. Going with discretion as the better part of valor, Sourbill swooped down toward the latter grouping, and soon found himself face to face with the shrew commander himself.

"Well well well, if it ain't an Abbeybird, come t' spy on us!" Choock blustered, paws on hips, although his tone and expression gave lie to any genuine belligerence. "Or didja bear some message from yer Abbot or Abbess that we'll most likely be disregardin' anyway? An' just which o' those mice is runnin' that place these days? Been hearin' conflictin' things … "

"AbbotGeoff in Abbotchair, AbbessNessa Infirmarykeeper. Bothstill Abbeyleaders."

"Ah. That clears things up a bit, I guess. So, what brings you here, featherbag?"

Sourbill cocked his head toward the raft-crafting going on around them. "Shrewcrawlers make boats."

"Ah. So it's a spy mission after all. Yah, we're buildin' boats. An' we don't crawl, flutterbutt."

"Hmmhmmhmm. Goodthing youbuild moreboats, notsteal anymore Abbeyboats."

"What're ya talkin' 'bout? We ain't never stolen any o' yer plankfloaters!"

"Thenyou ask bigfox, get truetale fromhim. Two Abbeyboats stolen, bigfox didit."

Choock studied Sourbill. "So, y' know about Jaffox, do you? Guess I shouldn't be surprised. You Redwallers do stay on top o' things hereabouts, don'tcher?"

"Bigfox fromnorth, stealboats, huntrats, maybedo muchelsebad. Weknow, weknow. Whatabout foxweasel bigcamp outside northwall? Wherethey comefrom?"

"Yeah, they were a bigger surprise to us than Jaffox 'imself. Turns out Jaff went an' recruited 'em from that valley to th' northeast o' here - same horde alla yer runaway rats came from, matter o' fact. How's that fer irony? They're sworn t' Lord Urthblood now, an' part o' his army. From what I heard, they already acquitted 'emselves in battle well, helped round up a whole lotta rats up their way 'fore comin' here. Guess they've earned their stripes, so they're our comrades-in-arms now, like it or not."

"You notlike?"

"We'll leave it to 'em t' do what they gotta do, an' stick with doin' what we gotta. Not like we'll be rubbin' shoulders much, with 'em or Jaffox's bunch, one we go our own ways."

"Whyshrews notstill inplains?"

"Movin' them rats was too slow that way, takin' too long. We'll be sailin' 'em down th' Moss from now on, leastways 'til this part o' Mossflower's cleared out, which it half is already, from what I unnerstand. Then mebbe we'll switch to another river or broadstream once we shift operations further south - hear tell there's sev'ral down that way t' choose from."

Sergeant Turkko stepped forward with some concern. "Cap'n, should we be tellin' all this t' this birdbrain? He'll fly right back to the Abbey an' tell 'em all our secrets!"

"What secrets, Turks? Once our rafts get movin', full o' rat transfers, they'll be seen from the air by ev'rybird in Mossflower who passes overhead. An' what'd the Redwallers be able t' do about it anyway, even if they do disapprove?"

"You didn't see what happened in th' Plains, Cap'n. They got a Badger Lord o' their own now, who'll fight on their side when they rouse themselves t' fightin'. Throw in their Long Patrol hares an' their Guosim allies, not t' mention their own squirrels an' otters too, an' they could muck things up fer us real good if they stick their snouts in where they don't belong."

Choock shot Sourbill a sour glance. "You lot wouldn't go doin' that, now wouldja?"

The Sparra gave a shrug of his wings. "Sourbill notdecide suchthings. Upto AbbottAbbess, other chiefbeasts, Sourbill justfly!"

"Well, why don'tcher just fly yer feathery self back to yer Abbey, an' tell all yer friends t' sit tight there, an' not go messin' 'round in our affairs?" Turkko encouraged.

"Mustgo talkto foxSword first, thenbe onway."

"I'm sure Sword Tolar will talk t' ya … unless'n he don't." Choock gave Sourbill a long, meaningful look. "No matter whether he does or doesn't, an' no matter what 'ee sez to you if 'ee does, here's a bit of advice fer you to carry back to yer Abbey friends, from me t' you: Don't think t' mess with Jaffox. 'Cos bad as things've been 'tween us of late, that's nuthin' compared t' what'll come down if that fox gets peeved."

"Willremember." Sourbill took flight, feeling he'd learned more than enough from Choock to have made his stop among the irascible shrews worthwhile. And while he would definitely skip any similar visit to the valley hordebeasts gathered to the north of the fortress, he still had much to try to discover from Tolar himself, if he could. So, he winged his way up and over the low outer wall and into Foxguard proper, chittering a brief hail of "RedwallRedwall!" to the sentries standing lookout on the ramparts as he passed over their heads on his way to seek out the leader of the black-clad swordfoxes.

This proved both easier and more difficult than anticipated - harder, because one black-clad fox looked much like any other to his sparrow eyes, and easier, because providence had Tolar out with most of his brigade, assembled together for their duelling practice on the grounds under the open sky. Unfortunately, many of the barbaric-looking non-swordfox vulpines stood with them as well, including the one who seemed nearly twice the size of most of his fellows. It appeared Sourbill would be making the acquaintance of a certain Jaffox this day, whether either of them wanted it or not.

The hulking, brutish Northlander glanced up at Sourbill's flapped landing among them, and let loose a taunting grin. "Look, boys - lunch delivery!"

Tolar, standing nearby as the two fox teams prepared to square off for their drilling competition, shot Jaffox a cautionary glare. "This is a Redwall messenger and scout, for your information. Eating him would open up complications not even you would welcome."

Jaffox's grin continued to hang on the verge of maliciousness as he regarded Tolar. "Only funnin', Sword. Learned long ago not t' go scoffin' any birdfolk - fer th' most part. But, if he's a Redwall spy, why're we even welcomin' him?"

"I said scout, not spy. Redwall happens to be an ally of ours, in case you'd forgotten. Or they would be, if you didn't go appropriating their rafts without their approval."

"Allies? Coulda fooled me, based on conversations I had with Cap'n Custis an' his Gawtrybe. An' Choock outside tol' me how a bunch o' Abbeybeasts knocked 'is shrews around out on th' Western Plains - when they weren't slayin' Lord Urthblood's gulls, includin' their own captain. Hardly th' actions of an ally, I'd say."

"Foxguard played no direct role in those unfortunate events, at the implicit discretion of Captain Custis - and Lord Urthblood himself, for that matter. Now as to the sparrow standing before us, he could just as easily be bringing news of happenings at the Abbey as seeking information from us."

Jaffox turned his attention back to the bird. "Well, which is it?" he demanded.

Sourbill fluffed himself up, not so much in indignation as with the confidence of an envoy. "Abbotsez Namedaysoon. Notsure when, notsure nameyet, butsoon. Askif youwant attend." The Sparra's gaze went from Tolar to Jaffox. "Notsure _YOU_ invited."

Jaffox gave a mock scowl of pretend wounded pride. "Naw, I've a feelin' tender Abbeybeasts wouldn't want me in their midst. Can't see us playin' nice t'gether; I'm a bit too rough 'round the edges fer their senserbilities. 'Sides, I got lots I gotta see to here on this side o' the Moss. So I'll just hafta skip yer liddle party. Sorry."

Sourbill saw no point in directly replying to Jaffox, or engaging him in any further discourse, and didn't even feel the need to observe the big fox to any additional degree. He'd now confirmed the marauder's presence at Foxguard - something at which no other Sparra scout before him had succeeded - and absorbed enough of the beast's casual, radiating menace in those few moments to feel he'd taken Jaffox's full measure. Yes, the Abbey leaders would certainly need to hear of _this_.

Little did Sourbill know just then that he'd be seeing a lot more of Jaffox before he left Foxguard to fly back to Redwall with his report.

"We've only been back at Foxguard a short time since our last visit," Tolar said to the sparrow, "and considering how things are going in Mossflower lately, I wouldn't have assumed we'd be welcome back there again so soon. If the Abbot and the other Abbey leaders would truly desire our company for your seasonal celebration, I will consider the invitation … although I hope he and the others will understand if I decline." He shot a glance at Jaffox. "These are not ordinary times at Foxguard, and much here requires my attention as well."

"Aw, don't lemme stop you from cavortin' with yer liddle Abbey friends," Jaffox teased. "I know how fond of 'em you are, an' 'sides, when ye're away it gives me so much more elbow room 'ere. Might even be able t' get a private bedchamber fer m'self while ye're gone. I'm sure Haddican would appreciate that too!"

"Hrmm."

"Roxroyhere?" Sourbill inquired of the Sword. "Winkotter sayshello."

"Roxroy is out escorting Tibball on his diplomatic rounds through nearer Mossflower," Tolar replied. "They might not return for some days yet, but when they do, I'll be sure to pass along Brother Winokur's greeting." The fox Sword suspected Sourbill asked as much for himself as for the otter Recorder; Roxroy almost certainly ranked as the most popular fox of the brigade with the Abbeyfolk, and that included the Sparra of Warbeak Loft, who were more at ease dealing with the earnest young swordsbeast than any other creature at Foxguard.

"Bunny ambassador," Jaffox snorted in derision, leering at Sourbill. "Two o' you would look good in th' stewpot t'gether."

Sourbill clacked his beak toward Jaffox. "Biguglyfox maketwo birdfood jokes. Mustlike badtaste."

"We were just about to commence some joint drills," Tolar explained to the sparrow. "You are free to stay and watch if you like."

Sourbill's twitchy gaze went from the proper uniformed swordfoxes to Jaffox's cruder vulpines and back again. "Youagainstthem? Yesyesyes, willstay, willwatch."

The Sparra hopped over to stand amongst the black-outfitted ranks of Tolar's brigade, where he felt fairly secure surrounded by these erstwhile allies of Redwall. This position allowed him to look across to take in the recently-arrived Northlanders, noticing that a ferret, weasel, stoat and fox stood within their group, a quartet who seemed to not quite mesh with Jaffox's crew, and whom Sourbill immediately pegged as belonging to the valley horde outside. Tolar had had Bryn, Rejuna, Snosso and the new weasel subcommander Juberlyn escorted in to witness these exercises, wanting them to see for themselves that the fox immediately commanding them was far from invincible.

Several vixens lingered among the ruffians as well, which Sourbill thought odd, since none of the females struck him as fighters, yet they looked on with undisguised interest and anticipation, as if heavily invested in the outcome of this practice session. Indeed, an air of tensed expectancy hung over the scene, now that Sourbill stood far enough back to observe it from a somewhat more objective perspective.

"Shall we get this show underway?" Jaffox said to Tolar.

"By all means. Remillard, you're up first."

Seeing that Tolar had started off with a senior veteran, Jaffox selected one of his own most formidable and seasoned foxes to meet Remillard. Perhaps assuming this would lead to a prolonged match-up of near-equals, Jaffox showed his wordless dissatisfaction on his face when the swordfox deftly relieved his opponent of his blade after fewer than a dozen swings. Chagrined, the defeated duellist stooped to recover his weapon and retreated to rejoin his fellows, refusing to look Jaffox in the eye.

"Haddican, you're next."

Again, Jaffox sent out one of his more experienced raiders to meet this challenge from a veteran of Tolar's brigade, and again his choice was quickly and embarrassingly deprived of his blade by Haddican's practiced expertise. The second Northlander rejoined his companions with a gaze-diverted sheepishness.

Catching onto Tolar's strategy of throwing out his best swordsbeasts first to establish early superiority in these drills, Jaffox countered by instructing one of his less capable bladesbeasts to go out to meet Sappakit, and stuck with this approach for the next several pairings, knowing this would yield additional defeats for his side. But Tolar only had a pawful of the Original Twenty left to call upon here, and once he burned through those he'd be forced to rely on his newer recruits. Then Jaffox would step it back up to his best fighters, and score some certain wins to put these pompous blackcoats in their proper places.

The two leaders of their respective fox squads found themselves standing alongside each other half a dozen clashes into the contest, with every swordfox retaining his blade and every Northlander disarmed. Bryn and the other valley horde officers started exchanging surprised looks, the results here far from what they'd expected.

"Got some good sword paws 'mongst yer crew, I'll give you that," Jaffox conceded to Tolar. "But I wonder how you'd fare under real battle conditions, with things not quite so … controlled, an' to yer liking."

Tolar would not be goaded by the thinly-veiled insult. "If we can get your foxes' swords away from them here, we can get other foebeasts' blades away from them too. And their spears, and clubs. In case you'd forgotten, we prevailed against a Badger Lord and the Long Patrol. We took Salamandastron."

"An' in case _you'd_ fergotten, we tamed th' Northlands, Sword."

"With our help. I seem to recall Sword Machus leading us into a fair few skirmishes during those campaigns - skirmishes where our presence often turned the tide of battle."

"Aye, an' then y' ran down here to yer fancy tower, leavin' us t' hold things t'gether up there - an' hold it t'gether we have, no thanks t' you."

"With more than just a little help from the Gawtrybe, I'm sure. You certainly brought enough of them down here with you to help you in Mossflower. With all the rats cleared out of the Northlands, holding things together up there must not be nearly as formidable a challenge as you make it sound."

Tolar's needling finally started to get to Jaffox. "Aye, that was a wise strategy o' Lord Urthblood's, gettin' rid o' those rats. An' I'd not be here t'all, ner my Gawtrybe friends neither, if 'is Lordship was happy with th' job _you've_ been doin'."

"Now we're just treading tired old ground again. So, who do you have for us next whose sword we can take?"

The next dozen or so match-ups went somewhat more Jaffox's way, although not as much as the big fox would have liked. Even the junior members of Tolar's brigade showed surprising skill, and while several of the Northlanders succeeded in holding their own and fighting their opponents to a draw, others still lost their blades to the younger swordsbeasts. Jaffox saw with growing gorge that not even his ploy of unleashing his better battlers against the less experienced foxes of Tolar's squad would win the day. The swordfoxes, having keenly observed from the start what they would be up against in their sparring partners' brutish, unrefined aggressiveness, adjusted their own technique to meet such a challenge, just as they'd been trained to do, and just as they'd be expected to do in the field against an actual enemy of Lord Urthblood's. There were so many different kinds of foebeasts in the world, each with its own dangers, and Tolar prided himself in preparing his cadets and recruits to meet every one of them.

"Enough o' this!" Jaffox finally exploded in frayed exasperation, paw on his sword hilt as he turned to Tolar. "Our underlin's could thrash it out all day 'ere, an' it'd prove nuthin'!"

"Oh, were we trying to prove something here? I thought it was just routine drilling. But, if you're ready to put your own blade skills on display here … "

"I am!" Jaffox drew his sword and struck a defensive stance against the chief bladesbeast of Foxguard. "Let's have it out now, Sword!"

"As you wish." Instead of drawing his own weapon, Tolar turned and calmly walked over to Belsis, tapping the junior fox on the shoulder, much to the surprise of everybeast involved. "I choose Belsis to face you."

Jaffox lowered his sword, flabbergasted. "Ye're … ye're gonna send that wet-behind-th'-ears whelp up against me? Ain'tcher gonna face me yerself?"

"Perhaps on another day - if you can prove yourself worthy of my time. For now, you get Belsis. Unless … you're not sure you can take him? I wouldn't want to overmatch you in your very first drill at Foxguard."

Jaffox snarled. "Bring … 'im … on."

"As you wish." Tolar leaned into Belsis and whispered, "Take his sword, at the very first opportunity. Put him in the dirt."

"Uh, yessir!" Belsis wasn't sure whether his Sword had meant to literally knock Jaffox off his paws after depriving him of his blade - neither of which the junior swordfox was at all sure he'd be able to do - or to just rub the big fox's snout in it after disarming him. But Tolar clearly had faith in Belsis's ability to emerge on top here, and so the young fox stepped forth to meet this challenge as best he could.

Jaffox tore right into his youthful opponent with a whistling windmilling of his blade, determined to end this almost before it began, to his favor. Belsis, seeing only the inefficient waste of energy in the Northlander's intimidating flourish, let his trained reflexes kick in, ducking forward like red and black lightning to score a smack against Jaffox's thigh, darting clear before the larger creature could bring his sword down upon him.

Jaffox stood glaring at Belsis, who held his ground just beyond sword range. "What was _that_?!"

"That was a point," Tolar casually supplied. "Against you. Fortunately - since this is a _friendly_ bout - he was careful to use only the flat of his sword. I should warn you, Belsis is quite quick on his footpaws."

"Won't help him, once I catch up with 'im," Jaffox growled. "C'mere, pup an' take what's comin' to ya!"

Belsis tensed, knowing he'd not get away with such a free, unanswered strike a second time, now that Jaffox knew to guard against his speed. The rest of this contest would be steel on steel, and with no way to equal Jaffox's insane strength, Belsis knew only too well that the outcome would hinge upon how well he would be able to turn aside those massive blows without absorbing their full impact, which would surely knock his own sword from his grasp.

Jaffox hit him front-on this time, wasting not one ounce of movement in unnecessary and showy flourishes. Rather than a brutish swing to jar the smaller fox, he thrust straight forward, forcing Belsis to parry and duck backward to avoid the bladetip. This allowed Jaffox, with his superior strength, to direct the defending blade as he wished, and then rear back for a proper swing while Belsis was still reorienting himself from the required deflection. The swordfox was quick, but not so quick that he could meet this angry swing with the full deftness he'd have preferred. The impact left his paw stinging, and he drew back to seek a moment's respite before the next buffet.

Jaffox gave him no such chance, pressing forward with fierce aggression. Belsis met two more savage swings which, although clumsy by his own standards, nevertheless had to be warded off. This he did, but now he fought as much on Jaffox's terms as his own, with the more massive beast calling the pitch and tenor of their engagement. Belsis would need to reclaim control if he wished to emerge from this match with his blade, and his pride.

Unbeknownst to Jaffox, Belsis had a secret weapon which he now held in reserve for the crucial moment.

And so the clash continued, Belsis holding his own half the time, and half the time absorbing furious blows sure to send his blade flying at the next collision of steel upon steel. Yet somehow the junior swordfox succeeded in holding onto his hilt even as Jaffox poured one bone-jarring swing upon him after another, designed to wear him down and force defeat of the first Foxguarder of that day.

But Jaffox wasn't wearing just Belsis down; the bigger fox's own reserves of strength, considerable as they might be, were being tapped too, and with the high emotions of this match, he thought only of the inevitable humiliation of his woefully-unequal, insultingly-chosen opponent, which would in turn bring about the natural humiliation of Tolar himself. With this sole goal in mind, he gave no thought as to what he would do if this duel became protracted, or if some new element were introduced unforeseen within the context of this single combat.

Just when Jaffox felt certain Belsis must surely lose his weapon at any moment, the junior swordfox ducked back and performed the surprise maneuver which would seal the outcome of this test of strength, skill and will. One of several fully ambidextrous foxes in Tolar's brigade, Belsis flipped his hilt from right paw to left, from the arm weary and strained from Jaffox's onslaught to the one fresh and equally lethal. And then he went after his bigger opponent for all he was worth.

Jaffox had, of course, battled many left-pawed foes during his campaigns in the North, but this was something different. All throughout his bout with Belsis, he'd settled into a posture designed to meet the rightpawed opponent, to wear the young fox down from a certain angle and adjust his own approach accordingly. Now he suddenly found himself facing practically a new enemy - one fighting from a different side to cast his carefully-developed strategy into ruins, one fighting with a fresh arm as opposed to Jaffox's tiring one, and with a skill surpassing any left-pawed enemy the Northlander had ever faced before.

Jaffox was deprived on his blade on the third swing, the sword flying free of his grasp to land on the ground several paces away.

Jaffox's fellow foxes gasped, wide-eyed. Bryn and his valley horde cohorts traded glances even more meaningful than before, seriously wondering for the first time whether they'd hitched their fortunes to the wrong fox chieftain. Joska looked on in smoldering dissatisfaction at her chosen champion being deprived of his weapon by a beast half his age and size. And Sourbill had watched the whole thing unfold with a keen birdspy's eye toward attention to detail - as he would continue to do.

And Tolar's brigade - every single one of them - wore satisfied grins over this new rival to their Sword being put in his place so tellingly.

Belsis turned to Tolar, seeking a nod or sign of approval that he'd acquitted himself to his Sword's satisfaction. At first the swordfox chieftain favored his underling with just that, but then his expression changed to one of alarm as he saw what was about to happen next.

" _Cheater_!" Jaffox snarled, lunging forward and bodily grabbing Belsis, heedless of the fact that the younger fox still held his sword. Belsis was too startled to react or resist as he found himself being hoisted high in the air, blade dangling from his affectless grasp - after all, the rules of engagement in such drills were known to one and all, and once one participant was deprived of his weapon, that was supposed to be the end of it. Jaffox lifted Belsis clear up over his head and then slammed the hapless fox down onto the hard ground with bone-crushing, breath-robbing force. Belsis at least had the presence of mind to hold the unsheathed blade clear so that he'd not impale or slice himself on it when he landed, but the impact left him dazed and gasping, and in no state to do anything but lie where Jaffox had put him.

Tolar was forward in a flash, sword drawn and chest-to-chest with Jaffox, getting in the other's face as much as he could with a beast a whole head taller. "If you _ever_ do anything like that again to any member of my brigade, you'll have me to contend with … and I won't be so careful about using just the flat of my blade. You wanted to see blood? I'll make sure it's yours you see!"

Jaffox, neither intimidated nor abashed, roared into Tolar's face with flecks of spittle flying, "Are you threat'nin' me? Are you _threat'nin'_ me?!"

Tolar could tell Jaffox quivered with barely-suppressed rage, teetering on the edge of physically assaulting him. "Go ahead. I dare you. Striking a superior officer … I would just _love_ to see you downstairs sharing a cell with our rat guests."

Realizing that nearly the entirety of Tolar's brigade had stepped forward to support him, except for Sappakit and Haddican who knelt over Belsis to check on the body-slammed junior swordfox, and having seen how overmatched his own foxes would be by the superior bladesbeasts, Jaffox stepped back. "Naw, we'd not want that. Can't be without yer second-in-command, can ya? Lord Urthblood wouldn't be happy 'bout that, no 'ee wouldn't."

Tolar resheathed his sword, slamming the hilt home with undisguised aggravation, and turned away without further comment. Going over to Belsis, he asked Sappakit, "How is he?"

"Seems to have feeling and movement in all his extremities, but he may have a cracked rib or three from that blow. You'll want to have Mona give him a good looking-over."

"Yes, of course." Gazing down at the junior swordfox, who'd managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, Tolar flashed an encouraging smile. "Good work, Bel. You made us proud. Just sorry it turned out the way it did at the end there."

"Aye, sir. And thanks. Wasn't expecting him to grab me like that, when my back was turned. What kind of beast does that?"

"One who's not accustomed to following any code of civilized conduct. You just rest up, and do whatever Mona tells you. We'll want your blade back in service as soon as may be!"

Tolar rose to find that Sourbill had hopped over to the scene as well. "I'm sorry you had to see that, friend. Such things don't normally happen at Foxguard. But then, these are hardly normal times here."

"Notsorry Isaw. Good toknow. Seenall needsee now. Willbe onway backtoAbbey. Thankyou forwelcome, goodluck with bigbadfox. Sendword if needhelp fromAbbey."

"I think we'll be fine. Safe flying back to Redwall, friend."

Tolar and Haddican stood watching the sparrow rise into the sky and clear the walltop, disappearing over the Moss, while Sappakit saw to getting Belsis down to Mona's surgery, the vixen herself having descended from the ramparts to meet them there. "That bird was certainly in a hurry to be out of here once he got a good look at Jaffox," Haddican mused.

"More like in a hurry to report back to the Abbot and Abbess what he witnessed. It will be very interesting to see exactly what he tells them - and how they react."

"Yeah … " Haddican threw a glance over his shoulder at Jaffox, who'd reconvened with his own foxes in a symbolic spurning of the swordfoxes. "It seems our 'dirty little secret' is finally out, whether we wanted it or not!"

Over amongst the Northlanders and valley hordebeasts, Jaffox's own foxes knew better than to approach him in his present mood, as did Bryn and his cohorts, who wasted little time in excusing themselves and filing back outside to join the rest of their horde comrades, but Joska, feeling nearly as humiliated as Jaffox, showed the temerity to engage with the big fox.

"What was that?" she berated. "All your new subcommanders were watching! Now it looks like you can't even hold your own against Tolar's second-best!"

"It was trickery," Jaffox fumed in a low and dangerous growl. "Switchin' paws like that … t'ain't honest fightin'!"

Joska smirked. "Bet it's a trick _you'd_ pull if you could. But that doesn't matter now. What matters is that Bryn and the others saw a mere kit deprive you of your sword - not Tolar, but one of his junior underlings! The last thing you could afford to let happen, if you want to keep the fear and respect and loyalty of your new little army. That was a foolish thing to allow!"

"I know all this already, vixen. Don't push at my sore spots unless you want some sore spots of your own!"

Joska forced herself into a more conciliatory demeanor. "I am only thinking of your standing here, commander. You need Bryn and the rest on your side. Until now, they've seen you as the one who calls the tune as far as they're concerned, no matter whether you have to answer to Tolar or not. Now they see that maybe the real power here rests elsewhere, and that might give them second thoughts about you - something you can _not_ let happen! Heed my words well - I know these beasts. I've dwelt among them for seasons. They needed Krayne and Harth to give them firm guidance of the kind Bryn couldn't provide. When you came, they were all willing - even Bryn - to accept you as their new leader … not through allegiance to some remote Badger Lord who dwells far from here, but because of the strong paw they saw immediately before them. That strong paw must not loosen … but after what they witnessed just now, your command of them may be hanging on by its clawtips."

Jaffox glowered for long moments, then glanced around to make sure none of Tolar's foxes and weasels and none of the Gawtrybe were within earshot. When he spoke, his words were scarcely more than a whisper.

"Tell me again about hemlock an' nightshade."


	34. Chapter XXXIII

**XXXIII.**

 **THE** _ **REDFOAM**_

The _Redfoam_ had reached the Doldrums … and Tropsa and Cordato were bickering again.

"Lattie says this's where we gotta tarry fer awhile," Cordato declared with the full authority of his self-proclaimed captaincy. "So tarry here we will."

Tropsa reared back in theatrical exaggeration, as if physically assailed by the sheer stupidity of such a strategy. "Right 'ere? Right in t'h middle o' th' most heavily travelled sea lanes, right at th' heart of Tratton's Empire? We're only, what, two days due west o' Terramort itself? An' how's this s'posed t' save us?"

"'Cos Lattie sez it will."

The two verbally-sparring searats stood to either side of the steersrat Gramaton, who did his best to keep his head down and stay out of the fray even as he stuck to his assigned station out of habit. The captain and his challenger now both turned to Latura, who idled a few paces away, seemingly more interested in the slack sails than the gravity of their situation even as the _Redfoam_ 's new commanders kept her close for these crucial consultations. "Yah, we've heard this one out," Tropsa spat, "an' 'er crackbrained logic still don't make sense t' me. So tell us agin, liddle missy, why this's even remotely a good idea?"

Latura pulled herself away from her preferred distractions with a concentrated, almost painful effort. "Slow waters, slow winds. We'll have this place to ourselves. No ships'll find us, not 'til th' shipkiller comes this way."

"I think she's right," Cordato asserted, jumping to the ratmaid's defense. "Most ships o' th' Fleet avoid this stretch, 'cos o' just what Lattie said. They don't wanna become becalmed, trapped in a zone where there's no wind in their sails an' no currents under their hulls t' deliver 'em outta it. Only way t' get free o' the Doldrums once they've caught you is by rowin' yer way outta them, which means any cap'n who doesn't wanna hafta depend solely on their oarsbeasts - which is most of 'em - 've got this place marked off loud an' bold on their charts as waters t' steer well clear of. Which makes it a haven fer us, if Lattie's right."

"Yah - if she's right. But even if she is, where's th' wisdom in this course? Y' say other ships'll shy away from 'ere, an' yet here we are, stuck in these same windless, stilled latitudes, an' with not even half an able rowin' crew on board! How're _we_ s'posed t' get our own selves outta here when th' time comes? An' how long's that gonna be, anyway? Every day we spend layin' becalmed out here's another day we go further through our stocks of food an' water. If we ain't careful, we'll Doldrum ourselves inta dyin' o thirst an' starvation, an' save Tratton th' trouble of huntin' us down 'imself!"

Latura pulled an uncertain face. "That don't happen. Least, I don't think it does."

Tropsa rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. She don't _think_ we starve t' death. Well, what _do_ we do, now that we're here? Just sail in circles, if th' winds would let us sail at all?"

"Ayup. Wait here 'til th' shipkiller comes."

"Shipkiller? Y' keep talkin' 'bout that, but y' ain't even told us what it is. Does that sound like sumpthin' we even wanna be seekin' out? 'Cos it don't to me. But even if it is, why would it be headin' out this way, when Cap'n Snagglefang 'ere just laid out all th' reasons why none o' Tratton's ships'll be comin' toward this calm patch o' the sea?"

"Test," Latura said by way of muddled explanation. "Gonna be a test, an' this'll be th' spot fer it."

"It'll be a test, awright," Tropsa grumbled. "A test of our patience an' common sense, not t' mention mebbe a test of our very survival."

"Dunno what ye're grousin' 'bout," Cordato growled at his rival. "Lattie's been proven right time after time, so why would this time be any diff'rent? Case you'd fergot, we came out on top in a run-in with a dreadnought. Not a galleon, not a frigate - a dreadnought. No line o' logic says that ever shoulda happened, but it did … an' that was just th' latest proof that we oughta follow Lattie's counsel, no matter where it leads, or how preposterous or farfetched it sounds. She got us th' _Redfoam_ \- norat can deny that, we're only in charge o' this ship 'cos o' her - an' she sniffed out Uroza's spyrats, which none o' th' rest of us coulda, not even knowin' or s'pectin' they was lurkin' 'mongst us, an' then she told us how t' take out a dreadnought that surely woulda destroyed us if we'd tried any ploy other'n hers. So if she's tellin' us now that this's where we gotta be, I'm taking her at her word an' taking it on faith that she's steerin' us right - 'cos after all we been through, she's earned that faith. From me, from you, an' from ev'ry rat aboard th' _Redfoam_."

Cordato turned to Latura. "All that said, it'd be nice t' have a little better idea just what this 'shipkiller' you keep goin' on about is, 'fore we run up against it. An' why _would_ it be comin' out this way, where any thinkin' crew would just as soon not go?"

"Toldja. Fer testin'. Maskface wants t' test it, make sure it works. Wants smooth water an' no winds fer that."

Tropsa straightened at this. "Maskface? You talkin' 'bout a ferret, lass?"

"Not a lass. He's a malebeast, alla time. Not like Martymouse, who switches back 'n' forth."

"Pah! I mean, are y' talkin' 'bout Clucus the Inventor? Who makes all King Tratton's weapons fer him?"

"Um, if that's 'is name, then yeah."

Cordato was no less familiar with Clucus and the ferret's reputation than Tropsa, and now the two rats stood staring at each other. "Well, this changes things."

"Yah. Yah, it does."

"We capture or kill that ferret, that'd be a blow right to th' heart of the Empire. No more superweapons fer King Tratton."

"Aye, but … he'll not come alone. He'll have plenny o' guards, mebbe a whole ship's worth. So unless we can pull off another surprise attack like we did fer th' _Skyburn_ , not sure it'll avail us anything … "

"Guess we'll just hafta wait an' see." Cordato turned to Latura. "Whaddya see, Lattie? What kinda force'll that ferret be bringin' with 'im? Is it anything we'll be able t' handle? Or should we be outta this place, 'fore they get here?"

The ratmaid shook her head. "Gotta stay. Gotta get th' shipkiller, if we can. Only thing that'll keep us in th' fight."

"An' just what is this shipkiller y' keep harpin' on? What's it do?"

"Kills ships. Duh."

Tropsa snorted. "Ask a stupid question … "

Cordato pressed on, ignoring the other rat's sarcasm. "Is it sumpthin' we c'n take fer ourselves? How're we gonna do that if it's heavily guarded?"

Latura chewed at her lower lip there under the wide, sunlit skies of this calm and windless dead spot in the middle of the ocean. "Dunno. Mebbe sumpthin'll occur t' me."

 **TERRAMORT**

Clucus was perhaps the only creature in the Searat Empire aside from Tratton himself who could stand in the presence of Spymaster Uroza without being intimidated. Then again, when the ferret had such a wonderful new toy to delight and divert him, he could hardly be blamed for sparing scarcely a thought to such trivialities of state.

"This is perfect, perfect!" Clucus gushed as he paced up and down and back and forth along the top deck of the _Goodwill_. The boarding crew from the _Skyburn_ , under the direction of the spyrat Cyntar, had sailed the captured trader vessel around to the north of Terramort and guided her right into the underground shipyards for inspection, and the ferret liked what he was seeing. Holding his paws up before his face, he reimagined the reconfiguring and outfitting of the _Goodwill_ right there on the spot. "We won't even need to take down an' reposition any of the masts! All this free space here amidships gives plenny o' room fer installin' the turntable, with leeway to rotate all th' way 'round an' get off shots to either port or starboard. Might hafta cover up some o' these cargo hatches, tho' they might provide good anchor spots as well. Yes, this is just what I was lookin' for! Would've taken half a season or more t' modify any ship of th' Fleet fer my needs, if it coulda been done t'all. Now I can have this craft ready for sea trials in just a day or two, soon as the launcher's brought down from the plateau an' installed. Thank you, Spymaster! Thank you so much!"

Uroza stood on the stone dock below the enthused inventorbeast, maintaining his usual cold reserve and not about to show undue excitement over something as mundane as a mere trader vessel, however well-suited to the weaponmaker's desires. "Don't thank me, Clucus. Thank Captain Cyntar. He's the one who spotted this ship on the high seas, recognized her as fitting the description of what you sought, and summoned the _Skyburn_ to wrest her from her woodlander crew and deliver her here to Terramort. You now have your floating platform for your latest weapon; make good use of it, and I'm confident His Majesty will reward you as richly as he has for any of your past contributions to his cause."

Clucus didn't even reply, so intent was he on diving right into this latest endeavor - a wavebourne war engine which, if it could only be brought close enough, might take down the gates of Salamandastron … but which might also, if employed differently, prove the bane and doom of every craft upon which it fastened its sights.

Uroza shrugged and turned to go, leaving the ferret quite literally to his own devices and not even bothering to mention the deposed mouse captain still chained down in the bowels of the _Goodwill_. Perhaps he would remind somerat to keep the woodland prisoner fed and watered, and perhaps he wouldn't. They had his ship now, so the mouse didn't really matter anymore, one way or the other.

 **REDWALL**

Upon returning to Redwall, Sourbill sought out Abbot Geoff to relate all that had transpired at Foxguard …

And then the sparrow scout sought out Vanessa up in the Infirmary to make his second, more detailed report to the Abbess and her circle of confidants.

Sourbill came and went by the open sick bay window so as not to be observed going up through the Abbey. Once the sparrow flew off again, Vanessa was left alone with Clewiston, Maura and Winokur.

"So," the Badgermum said, "now we know Jaffox is definitely at Foxguard."

"Oh, there was never any doubt in my mind about _that_ ," Vanessa responded, "not between the name Traveller picked up at the quarry and the pawprints he and Saticoy found at the scene of our stolen rafts. And now we know where he's been all this time, too: Out recruiting the remnants of Harth's old valley horde and bringing them into Urthblood's service."

"Urthblood's?" Clewiston wondered. "Or his own?"

"Yes, Colonel, that is the question, isn't it?"

"Would Tolar even allow such a thing?" Winokur broached. "He's still in charge of Foxguard; the confrontation Sourbill witnessed between him and Jaffox seems to verify at least that much."

"There's still so much about the situation we don't know, Wink. Such as just how much leeway and authority Urthblood has granted Jaffox in relation to Tolar … although we can only assume it's a fair degree, for him to have called that brute down from the Northlands in the first place. As for Krayne's horde, it could be that Tolar wants little to do with them, and is perfectly content to leave them to Jaffox, or even to themselves; you'll notice how Sourbill reported that they were all being made to stay outside the walls. We must also ask whether Urthblood summoned Jaffox to Mossflower primarily to help with the Purge, or to set Tolar straight because that badger wasn't happy with the job his fox Sword was doing. Does Jaffox answer to Tolar, or to Custis - or only to himself? Without a more prolonged Redwallian presence at Foxguard, it's very difficult to be sure."

"I very much doubt that blinkin' bruiser woulda put himself on the jolly spot to be humiliated by Tolar's crew like that if he didn't hafta," Clewiston pointed out. "That kinda points to him havin' to kowtow to our Sword friend, doesn't it?"

"Not necessarily," Maura countered. "Not if Jaffox had felt sure going into it that he'd come out on top. Wouldn't be the first vermin bully undone by his own pride and overconfidence, would he? That duel could even have been his own idea, for all we know."

Clewiston shrugged. "Either way, it all comes out to th' same bally thing, an' that's that it's now fox against flippin' fox at that place." He looked to Vanessa. "An' surely such divisions can only be good for us, wouldn't you say, marm?"

"Be careful what you wish for, Colonel. We already know from Captain Truax that Jaffox is a beast not unfamiliar with treachery and murder, although whether he would resort to such on his own initiative and for his own benefit becomes the all-important question now. If Urthblood truly has granted Jaffox leave to remove Tolar from power at his own discretion, there can be little doubt that he will invariably move to do just that, sooner or later, under whatever pretext he can come up with to justify usurping Tolar's place at Foxguard. If, however, Jaffox has not been granted such a free paw, will that be enough to stop him from going ahead with such a scheme anyway? This could account for why he brought foxes of his own down from the north, and why he recruited that valley horde: to back him up in any attempt to overthrow Tolar, be it Urthblood's will or not. And if the Gawtrybe support him in this aim as well - or even if they stand back and refuse to take sides - we could well see the current leadership of Foxguard fall, to be replaced by the reign of a bloodthirsty madbeast."

"Badred," Winokur muttered. "Red terrors … these are the things Latura talked about. Foxguard being a bad place. Maybe she didn't just mean bad for her species, but for all of us. Maybe Jaffox and his foxes are the 'red terrors' she warned us of."

"As likely an explanation as any," Vanessa conceded, "and one I'll neither fully accept nor dismiss out of paw at this juncture. But remember, my entire strategy toward Foxguard has been based upon winning Tolar to our side, or at the very least winning him away from Urthblood, so that he does not side against us. Jaffox is unwinnable. If Foxguard falls to him, we lose Foxguard. And then if Urthblood ever does move against us openly, he'll have that stronghold at his full command as well."

"Yes, but, just how likely is this scenario you're laying out?" Winokur looked from one face to another. "I've been to Foxguard in recent seasons, multiple times. We must not forget that that fortress was designed as the bastion of the swordfox brigade. For Jaffox to take it over, he'd have to remove not only Tolar but all the veteran foxes of that brigade, and maybe a fair few of the junior members as well who might oppose him. I know Roxroy certainly would never accept a beast like Jaffox as his new leader, or take orders from him."

"Again, Wink, it all goes back to what Urthblood's part in all of this is," Vanessa reminded the otter Recorder. "If he approves of Jaffox replacing Tolar, then Roxroy and the rest will be left no choice but to accept Jaffox, unless they want to break with Urthblood altogether."

"Any chance we could count on that, wot? Jaffox an' his brutes takin' over Foxguard, leavin' Tolar's swordswingers to come fully over to our side, against His Bloodiness?"

"I don't see that happening very easily, Colonel. Obedience to Urthblood has been very deeply ingrained in his swordfoxes. If Jaffox has Urthblood's backing to replace Tolar, I suspect the others will see no choice but to accept it, however much it galls them. On the other paw, if Jaffox tries to take over Foxguard on his own, it will likely be a bloodbath, no matter which side prevails."

"I wouldn't bet on Jaffox then in that case," Winokur said in support of the swordfoxes. "From what Sourbill just told us happened today, the Northland foxes would be overmatched - and if the valley horde leaders were there to see it too, they might think twice about joining his side in any rebellion he tries to lead against Tolar."

"I doubt he'd resort to open rebellion anyway, since he would then have the Gawtrybe to contend with. That's not the danger I see. Jaffox has seen that he'd be outmatched in any honest contest with Tolar's foxes; that's where I can see him turning to treachery and murder to get his way, especially now that Tolar has humiliated him. Jaffox might be looking for some manner of retribution to answer his own belittlement today; creatures like him are seldom content to let such things pass. That, I think, is where the greatest threat lies - to Tolar, and to us."

"So … " Clewiston said into the brief silence that followed. "Do we take Jaffox out ourselves?"

Winokur and Maura stared at the hare, while Vanessa let slip the ghost of a smile. "And how would you propose we go about doing _that_ , Colonel?"

"Hmm. Wouldn't be easy, I admit. Doubt we'd be able t' convince that bully to visit us here - assumin' we'd even want him anywhere on this side of th' Moss, or anywhere closer to our fair home than he is now - so that'd mean gettin' somebeast over to Foxguard to carry out th' deed. S'pose we'd hafta make it look like they were actin' on their own too, in case the attempt goes awry, so that no blame can be turned back on any of us. An' they'd need to be willin' to lay down their lives, since slayin' that ruffian might get them killed by Jaffox's followers for their trouble. A Hanchett type, that's wot we could use now, to invoke the name of one haunted but honorable hare past. Shall I go down to the warrens this evening an' ask for volunteers, marm? We could have 'em ready an' off by first light."

"Not just yet, Colonel, although thank you for that offer … I think. If Jaffox ever menaces Redwall directly, I will take care of him personally, and take great relish in doing so. But for now he is Foxguard's problem - and Tolar's. We've quite enough on our own paws with the building of Freetown, and getting all our rat guests settled into their various new positions - and the Nameday preparations, which are sure to commence any day now, given that summer is at last upon us. Not to mention our other activities in wider Mossflower, which could still bring us trouble if they are discovered. To engage in an action so provocative as an outright assassination, against a commander still ostensibly loyal to Urthblood, could only bring us more trouble than we can handle. Tolar will have to deal wth Jaffox on his own, at least for now. We'll have to settle for making frequent Sparra runs to Foxguard, to keep a close eye on things there, and if the situation changes considerably, we'll decide what to do then."

Maura turned a hard gaze upon the mouse. "What do you … see … happening at Foxguard, Nessa?"

"See? In the sense that you mean? I cannot predict this outcome, Maura. It could go either way. If I had to lay acorns - or Realms - on one side or the other, I'd go with Tolar. I'd certainly hope for it to be Tolar, for all our sakes, but he will not have things easy no matter how it goes. The future of that struggle remains hazy, clouded … almost as if somebeast was obscuring it, as Latura might - which is odd because I know of no creature with prophetic powers currently at Foxguard. Except perhaps for Mona; I'm beginning to suspect there's far more to that vixen than meets even my eye, although I tend to doubt she possesses fateful powers to match Latura or Urthblood, which might obscure future events. Still, she's one to watch."

"What about Krayne's old vixen seer?" asked Winokur. "Harth's talked at length about that one - Zoska, I think it was? - and Sourbill saw vixens at Foxguard today. They could only have come from that horde, so she could well be there too."

"Harth has also stated in no uncertain terms that he holds that vixen to be a complete and total fraud as a prophetess, and little better as a healer, leaving mystic theatrics and assassination as her primary strengths. Perhaps we could invite her here for our next historical pageant to take advantage of her acting abilities, but it's her killing tendencies which I suspect may present Tolar with some challenges, especially if Jaffox has won her to his cause. But as far as prophetic gifts, I'd wager Mona possesses more than this so-called seer ever has, or ever will."

"Still," Clewiston said, "she could be a problem, 'specially if she 'n' Jaffox are in cahoots 'gainst Tolar."

"Yes, we'll need to pick Harth's brain a bit more about her, see what he thinks she'd be likely to do in such a situation. He may be able to provide us some invaluable insight as to her motivations and tendencies, and how she's likely to insinuate herself into Foxguard's affairs. It could help us know what to look for as events unfold."

Winokur shook his head. "There have never been vixens at Foxguard before. I've asked Roxroy about it, and he told me it was for reasons of discipline, that Tolar wanted his brigade totally focused on their training and skills, without any distractions. I can't even begin to imagine how much that's changed things there."

"There's never been a horde at Foxguard before either," said Vanessa. "It only makes sense that if Jaffox would raid Krayne's valley for fighters, he'd raid it for other things as well. And yes, I daresay you'd find things very much changed at Foxguard if you were to go there these days."

Clewiston snorted. "Just goes t' show the diff'rence 'tween vermin an' goodbeasts, wot? Never had any problem with does in the Long Patrols. Some of our best fighters down through the seasons have been females. Wouldn't dream of excludin' 'em from th' ranks, don'tcha know."

Vanessa shot him a sly smile. "But vixens aren't hares, are they?"

"Nay, marm, they're surely not."

Winokur pursed his lips. "Now, Sourbill did use Nameday as his cover story for this visit, and said Tolar was quite noncommittal about the matter. What do we do if he decides to attend after all, and some of that horde wants to come with him? Or those vixens - or Jaffox himself?"

"Tough luck on 'em," Clewiston spat. "We invite only upstandin' vermin to our celebrations, not the regular ones."

Wink regarded the hare. "So, it's taken something like Jaffox to get you to see Tolar's brigade as 'upstanding,' hm?"

"It is wot it is, wot?"

"I can just see what Geoff's reaction would be if Jaffox and his gang show up at our gates for Nameday," Maura mused.

"At least now he knows about Jaffox," said Winokur. "I felt a little guilty, keeping such knowledge from him. He'll be mad if he ever finds out we were aware of Jaffox's presence in Mossflower and kept him in the dark about it."

"Won't find out from me or Traveller," Clewiston asserted. "Discretion's always been a byword for the Long Patrol, keepin' need-to-know information limited to the proper parties, wot? An' the only other ones at the Abbey who knew were the three of you, so unless you go flappin' your flippin' lips or let it slip by mistake, he'll not be findin' out, will he?"

"True." Maura regarded Vanessa. "And it's not like we haven't had a much bigger secret to keep from him, is it?"


	35. Chapter XXXIV

**XXXIV.**

 **MOSSFLOWER AND THE WESTERN PLAINS**

Master Trelayne would never get to celebrate a Nameday at Redwall.

After the marten had tarried at the Abbey for far longer than he might have preferred following Kyslith's departure for Foxguard, a pair of Gawtrybe finally appeared at the main gates, declaring themselves his escort to see him to the coast and back to Salamandastron. The trio departed that same day, the glassmaker seeing no need to delay further. And so, after his final round of farewells to the friendly Abbey folk who had so warmly opened their home to him - and one last enjoinder to Geoff to take special care of his figurine, since the artist would no longer be on paw in Mossflower to craft him a fourth one - Trelayne took his leave, setting forth from Redwall under the clear skies of the last of spring and striking south along the main path on his way to rejoin his badger master.

Three days out from the Abbey - the older marten striking and holding to a leisurely pace so as not to overtire himself - they came to Lorr Bridge. Trelayne appreciated it now even more than during his first crossing of the structure, having learned from the Redwallers of the unique bankvole who'd conceived it. The intricacy of its supporting timber framework, combined with the sweeping, graceful simplicity of its curving pedestrian arch, appealed to the craftsbeast within Trelayne, and he stood for a long time admiring the span from either side, and nearly as long at the apex over the center of the river, drinking in the aesthetic of sanded wood planks and perfectly-proportioned railings.

"Um, we should be moving on, sir," one of the squirrels prompted at last.

"What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course. This is only my second time seeing this wonderful piece of imaginative engineering, and when I crossed it the first time when heading north to Redwall, I was in the presence of too many fellow travellers, all too intent upon reaching their destination, for me to fully appreciate its majesty and subtlety and expert conception and construction. And since this may very well be the last time I ever enjoy the privilege of treading its boards, I want to savor this moment as one to long remember. Yes, yes, I can see that the masters of their respective crafts were at work here - the Guosim shrews who cut and milled and assembled all the physical aspects of the architecture, and the keen creative mind of the ill-fated Lorr, in whose imagination this endeavor first lit as the spark of an idea and then blossomed into the fullness of what stands before us now!"

"If you say so, sir," the other Gawtrybe responded. "But it's still just a bridge."

Two days beyond that, having turned west after crossing Lorr Bridge, they emerged from the mostly-covered forest trails of southern Mossflower out into more open fields and meadows - the lower reaches of the Western Plains. Never did they stray far from the broadstream they'd crossed, knowing from their prior journeying that its course would take them most of the way across the flatlands, until the watercourse dove beneath the mountains, at which point they'd be forced to turn their pawsteps south to skirt the lower limb of the range separating the seacoast from the inner lands. Much of their journey still lay ahead of them - both in terms of distance and, owing to Trelayne's more measured pace, time - but knowing that the forested regions now lay behind them provided at least some measure of satisfaction that they were making measurable progress, even at the expense of five days' marching.

Once out into the Plains, two unexpected things happened. First, the keen-eyed Gawtrybe escorts spotted a group of creatures up ahead, and climbed the nearest of the increasingly-sparse trees to gain a better look at the unknown beasts.

Trelayne waited in nervous anticipation for the two squirrels to descend with their findings. "Well, what could you make of them?" the pine marten asked when they rejoined him. "Do they look like honest goodbeasts, or might there be trouble?"

One squirrel shook his head in indecision. "Wish I had a long glass with me to make them out more clearly. It's a big group, two- or threescore strong. And they're bearing banners, so it's some manner of official procession."

"Banners?" Trelayne repeated. "Well, are they Lord Urthblood's Crimson Badger standards? I can't imagine who else would be marching around under banners in this region. Then again, I can't really picture why his forces would either."

"Like I said, it wasn't entirely clear. I think there were the badger banners in there amongst them, but it looked like there were others too … and that's what I can't figure out."

"Others?"

The squirrel nodded. "Aye. Red, black and green."

These three colors needed no explanation to anybeast who'd spent any part of recent seasons at Salamandastron. "Searats?" Trelayne probed in disbelief.

"That's what it looked like, sir. But we'll find out soon enough one way or the other, since they're definitely coming our way."

They found out even sooner than that. Just a fewscore paces beyond their surveillance tree, with the mystery party still just a hazy conglomerate far toward the horizon, Klystra swooped down upon them with a hail of greeting, landing right in their path.

"What news, Captain?" one of the squirrels asked the falcon.

Klystra, by way of answering, cocked a bemused head toward Trelayne. "See glassmarten has left Redwall. Past time. Lord Urthblood be glad you back at mountain. Tolomeomouse be glad too, not only glassmaker there anymore."

"Has there been any trouble there?" Trelayne asked.

"Trouble? No trouble. Just … interesting things. Find out when you arrive. Find out some, long before you arrive."

One of the Gawtrybe motioned toward the approaching company of land beasts. "And who are those up ahead? They seem to be … an interesting mix."

"Tratton asked permission for highcaptain of his to take walking tour of Mossflower, Lord Urthblood agree, so searats leave mountain escorted by Gawtrybe, scoreandhalf of each."

"A score and a half of searats. guarded by a score and a half of us?" the squirrel mused. "I'd say that gives us the upper paw to quash any mischief they start. So, who's this searat captain of Tratton's, and why does he rate such consideration?"

"Not fully sure what is all about, but Lord Urthblood agree, so we do as told. Captain is Redclaw." Klystra paused, as if deliberating whether to reveal more. "Very … interesting rat. You meet shortly, make sure to be polite. Remember, has Lord Urthblood's permission."

"Whatever you say." The three landbeasts continued their forward progress, not entirely enamored of the prospect of meeting up with searats here in the Western Plains, on the very fringes of Mossflower, whether they be escorted by Gawtrybe with Urthblood's leave or no.

Some time later the two companies met face-to-face, each pausing along the open trail to take stock of the other, although Trelayne's trio had far more to take in than the other way around. The Gawtrybe squirrel in charge of the party from Salamandastron, a young female, stood alongside an outlandishly-outfitted searat captain, his crimson and scarlet silks and red-dyed paws and tail and vermillion eyepatch uniting to create an effect of almost comical tonal overkill. Except that Trelayne wasn't laughing; the mere sight and presence of searats was enough to raise his hackles and bristle his fur, and make the tip of his blade-shortened tail sting in memory of that past indignity. The marten stood scowling at the intruding seavermin, leaving it to his squirrel companions to do the talking.

"Poinsett?" one of the coast-bound Gawtrybe greeted in surprise. "You're in charge of this expedition?"

"I am. Captain Matowick remains at Salamandastron to oversee things there. So, how much did Klystra tell you? I saw him fly ahead to briefly rendezvous with you."

The two Gawtrybe with Trelayne glanced skyward, to where the falcon now circled watchfully overhead. "Only that your delegation travels these lands with Lord Urthblood's permission, at King Tratton's request. And I see that Captain Redclaw lives up to his name."

"Aye, that I does, matey," the preposterous rodent identified as Redclaw affirmed in a throaty half-guffaw.

Poinsett regarded Trelayne's pair of escorts. "Were either of you present for the signing of the Accord?"

One shook his head while the other nodded. "Yes, I was in the line backing up Lord Urthblood at the table. Why?"

"Just what did Captain Klystra tell you about our guests here?"

"Only that Redclaw is one of Tratton's highest captains, and has Lord Urthblood's leave to be here, as I have already said. Is there more we ought to know?"

Poinsett seemed to deliberate for many heartbeats, just as Klystra had earlier, Redclaw scrutinizing her. Then she shook her head. "No, that's pretty much it. Redclaw's delegation is touring Mossflower at King Tratton's behest, and we are to - "

"Touring Mossflower?" Trelayne cut in, breaking his irately simmering silence at last. "How can this even be allowed? And surely you don't mean to visit Redwall with this … this … " He glared at the red-bedecked searat with utter disdain.

"My instructions are to escort them wherever they wish to go, and safeguard their passage," Poinsett primly informed the marten. "And since you are clearly on your way back to Salamandastron, good Master Trelayne, this should be of no concern to you."

"I have spent much time at Redwall this season, and at Foxguard too, and I cannot imagine the leaders of either happily welcoming such seascum as this into their midst, any more than I am happy to be meeting them now."

"Master Trelayne, I would remind you that the Accord ended hostilities between Terramort and Salamandastron, and peace now holds between us and the searats. This expedition is an extension of that peace, and is not to be interfered with in any way."

"Hrmm. And you've met with no … 'interference' … from any of the local residents you've encountered along the way?"

"Not so far. And we are prepared to deal with any we do meet."

The rat in red stepped forward to take a clear appraisal of the tailed-shortened marten. "An' jus' who be ye, who dares voice such poison 'gainst my noble kind?"

Trelayne all but spat in the encroaching rat's face. "Your 'noble kind' are nothing but savages and barbarians! I've seen your work up close … how you murder the innocent and destroy beauty! And I well remember how you abducted me from my own home and marched me at bladepoint to an intended fate no creature deserves, disfiguring me when I couldn't keep up fast enough for your liking. Well, Lord Urthblood rescued me from your filthy clutches, and I repaid him for that favor many times over with my willing service … and repaid you many times over for what you did to me!"

A second rat, less buffoonish and far more dangerous-looking than Redclaw, stepped forward to his master's side at this provocation, but the sea captain held up a regal paw of restraint. "Ye wouldn't 'appen t' be that marten who makes that flesh-destroyin' potion, wouldja?"

"Oh, I make a lot more than that. What I make burns ships. Were you there at the battle from Salamandastron, when so many of your fellow captains wasted their lives in your King's stupid assault? I enjoyed watching all your ships burn and explode. It made me very, very happy."

"How dare you!" the guardsrat roared, unable to contain himself. "Do you have any idea who - "

"Talarek."

One soft word from the red-clad rat was enough to silence his indignant underling. Trelayne was not so caught up in his own umbrage that he failed to note the sudden shift from cartoonish bluster to cold command on Redclaw's part, or the razor skill with which he invoked his authority, expecting immediate and unquestioning obedience, and the marten's eyes widened. That was when he knew.

Tratton tried to slip back into character after his momentary reveal, but by then it was too late. "Then I guess it's a good thing you weren't part o' the decision-makin' process that led to the Accord," he sneered at Trelayne. "Ev'rybeast's got its place, an' 'parently yers ain't that high."

Even before Tratton finished issuing this stinging, verminesque rebuke, Trelayne was lunging forward, his hidden personal dagger drawn and in his paw, intent upon striking down the ruler of the dreaded Empire he so despised. And before any of the Gawtrybe could react to the marten's unforeseen and uncharacteristic aggression - indeed, even before Talarek could draw his sword and put himself between Trelayne and the Searat King to block this assault - Tratton went into automatic defensive posture, his own dagger unsheathed. In one fluid motion he deftly twisted and sidestepped the glassmaker's clumsy assassination attempt while simultaneously bringing his short blade across the marten's throat with a savage, practiced swipe.

Trelayne collapsed to his knees, eyes wide as his gashed windpipe denied him air and his blood gushed forth in a cascade to stain his simple travel tunic. That wide-eyed expression of horrified surprise was still on his face as he keeled over sideways into the dirt to fall still for the last time, blood pooling around his head to ghoulishly moisten the dry path.

The two Gawtrybe escorting the newly-slain marten stood with arrows nocked to bowstrings and aimed straight at Tratton - or at last they would have, had Talarek not placed himself between them and his liege. Meanwhile, nearly a score of searat arrows had come out of their own quivers, those shafts now trained upon the two threatening squirrels.

To the duo's surprise, Poinsett too stepped forward to put herself in front of the red searat. "Lower your weapons," she ordered. "If you let those shafts fly, these rat archers will cut you down - and I'll not lift a paw to stop them."

Stunned and shocked, they complied. Satisfied that at least that danger of escalation had been averted for the moment, she turned to Tratton as their medic Diddell knelt to see if anything at all was to be done for Trelayne. "Do you have any idea what you just did, Your Majesty?"

"What I did? I was attacked, and I defended myself, as was my perfect right."

" _We_ are here to protect you, and calm tensions with any woodlanders we meet!"

"Then you're not doing a very good job of it, are you?"

Diddell looked up at Poinsett from his examination of Trelayne, face forlorn, and shook his head. The female Gawtrybe put her paw across her eyes in frustration. "Aw, bowrot … "

Klystra flapped out of the sky to roughly land by the scene, drawn by what he'd observed from above. "What happen?" the falcon demanded.

Poinsett lowered her paw. "Trelayne went berserk and tried to kill King Tratton. His Majesty slew Trelayne in self-defense."

Klystra had already surmised as much from his own observations, and now clacked his bill in confirmation. "Not good. Bad, bad. What do now?"

She turned to Tratton. "This is precisely the kind of thing Captain Matowick worried might happen if we encountered belligerent woodlanders. You Majesty, we must turn back and return to Salamandastron."

"We must do no such thing. And that was no mere woodlander who assailed me, but one of your own. Please explain _that_ , if you'd care to."

"He recognized you."

"How? We never met before today."

"Perhaps that disguise doesn't hide you as well as you imagine."

"Perhaps it doesn't. Or perhaps this attempt on my life was not so spur-of-the-moment as it was made to appear."

Poinsett scoffed. "Master Trelayne was a craftsbeast, and not any kind of trained fighter at all. What sense would it make for us or anybeast to rely on him as an assassin?"

"Sometimes the blade from the most unexpected quarter is the most effective of all."

"You're also overlooking the fact that he was far more valuable to us for his crafting skills than as a fighter, of which we have many." Poinsett's eyes narrowed at Tratton. "And you seemed pretty interested in him once you found out who he was just now. Are you so sure you didn't seek to provoke him into attacking you, to give you an excuse to slay him?"

Tratton's expression darkened - which, combined with his exaggerated red garb and dyes, gave him an almost demonic air. "His statements toward me were far more inflammatory than mine toward him."

"Enough!" Klystra cawed, invoking his authority as the highest-ranking member of Lord Urthblood's forces on the scene. "You both stop now. Must figure out what we do now."

Poinsett gazed down at Trelayne's sad, still form. "I don't even know if he had a proper home to return to. We can't just leave him here, obviously. Perhaps we should bury him before moving on?"

"Our orders were to escort him to Salamandastron," said one of the pair charged with that task. "To … get him there safely. We can still get him there, if not as intended. I'm thinking he should be borne back to the mountain, for a proper interment there. That's been his home for several seasons now, after all. Doesn't seem right, burying him out here, in the middle of nowhere."

"Why not ask Lord Urthblood?" Tratton suggested. "I'm sure he'll want to hear about what went on here in any event."

Poinsett levelled a cold glare the rat's way. "Yes … about how you murdered a key member of his defensive forces."

"You do not want to see me when I get to truly murdering. Tell your Lord _all_ that happened, and he will understand that I make no apology for defending myself."

"Will fly to Salamandastron," Klystra announced, "inform Captain Matowick, let him decide what to tell Lord Urthblood, and how. Meantime, must take care of body. Cannot leave lying around like … that."

Poinsett nodded. "We'll use some of our beddings to wrap him properly, and have him borne back to the mountain." She glanced at his two prior escorts. "Do you think you're up to it?"

"To be honest, that would be a steep chore, bearing him all the way to the coast between just the two of us. We could really use some extra paws along to spell us."

"Very well. I'll assign two of my own contingent to accompany you, and hasten you on your way. That should get you there in decent time." She turned to Tratton. "Two of your rats will have to go with them."

"And why would they do that?"

"Assigning two of my Gawtrybe to this escort detail will drop our numbers to twenty-eight. I'll need two of your rats to return with them to Salamandastron, to keep our forces equal."

"I don't think so."

"Excuse me?"

"How you deploy your squirrels is your own affair. I left Salamandastron with a score and a half of my Royal Guard, and that is the number I intend to maintain for the duration of this expedition." Tratton looked to the ranks of agitated Gawtrybe. "Or do you doubt the ability of twenty-eight of your legendary, incomparable archers to keep in line a mere thirty searats?"

"Thirty-one, including yourself, Your Majesty. And after seeing the way you took down Master Trelayne, I suspect you could take out several of us just on your own."

"You should see how I can move when I'm not bulked up and slowed down with this ridiculous padding. But this masquerade must be maintained, mustn't it?"

One of Trelayne's overwhelmed escorts looked from Tratton to Poinsett. "Marm, is this rat really … _him_?"

"Yeah," said the other, "we keep hearing you address him as 'Your Majesty' and such."

The female Gawtrybe gave an affirming nod. "Yes. It's him. And you're to share this with no other you meet between here and Salamandastron, is that understood?"

"Yes, but … what's he even _doing_ here?"

"It's as you've been told: he had Lord Urthblood's leave to be on this tour, and to go anywhere in Mossflower he wishes."

"But … why?"

"Because he wants to, apparently. And that's good enough for Lord Urthblood, so it will have to be good enough for us as well."

As several of the Gawtrybe saw to respectfully enshrouding Trelayne's body, Klystra took off to the west to bear these tragic tidings to Matowick. Tratton stood watching the cocooning of the marten, bloody dagger still in his paw. "What did you say this one's name was?" he asked Poinsett.

"Trelayne. His name was Trelayne."

"Hm. That would have been a good rat name. Pity." He glanced to his swordmaster. "Talarek. You were late."

The head guard blanched. "A thousand apologies, Majesty."

"We'll talk more about _that_ once we're back aboard the _Darktide_. Until then, I trust I'll not have to fend off any more attackers on my own?"

"No, Sire."

"Good. Now, on the subject of names … " Tratton glanced down at his red-stained blade; some of the glassmaker's blood had found its way onto his paws as well. "It seems I am truly living up to the alias I've adopted for this tour. If everybeast will excuse me, I'll be at the riverbank cleansing my knife and my paws before we move on."

 **SOUTHERN MOSSFLOWER**

"Something's not right."

Custis and Mina stood in the middle of the abandoned encampment while the rest of their team investigated the individual huts and hovels and swept the nearby woods. The Gawtrybe Lady had joined her fellow squirrels for this day's action, and not for the first time - not as an active participant but as an observer … although she was certainly willing to lend a paw if any heavy resistance arose, or if fleeing rats needed to be caught.

Except that there were no rats here to resist or to chase down. That this was a rat settlement was clear from the pawprints and other telltale indications obvious to the keen-eyed Gawtrybe, but not a single one of the target rodents remained in a community which had clearly consisted of several families.

Custis gritted his teeth. "This is the third one, and the largest so far … and who's to say there haven't also been solitary homesteads in the deep woods as well, that we've overlooked? Somehow, they're knowing to evacuate before we get to them … "

"Could it be that some other sweep team beat us to them?" Mina wondered. "Another group from Foxguard, or perhaps the Gawtrybe Jaffox brought down from the North with him? It could even be Jaffox himself."

Custis shook his head. "The only sweep teams covering this part of Mossflower are those of us based at Gawdrey. We're far south of Foxguard, and even farther south of the region where Jaffox has been operating, and our gulls have reported no change in any of that. Besides, look at the tracks, Lady. Only rat pawprints - no squirrels, no foxes or any other species. No, they knew we were coming, and cleared out ahead of our arrival."

"Well, we knew this would be a risk. Sooner or later, word of an operation so large and widespread was bound to leak out. We couldn't expect to operate in secrecy forever. Jaffox's activities north of Foxguard might have been enough just by themselves."

"North of Foxguard. Not down here. There's no way word of his recent actions could have travelled so far, so fast."

"Then maybe it was your own actions. You started your sweeps while you were still based at Foxguard awaiting the completion of Gawdrey, after all. And you made no secret of your intentions to the local woodlander population in your attempt to win them to our cause. Not all may have agreed with our aims, and might have been loose with their lips. Word was out there, Custis, and these rats could have been warned through any number of ways. You just said yourself that we've found only rat prints here; that in itself suggests no interference from any outside species."

"Unless the interlopers knew to wipe their own tracks, as professionals would. And I can think of two sources for such beasts who might think to work against us - neither of which gives me cause for celebration."

"I can guess one of them. You think it's Redwall, don't you?"

"We know the Long Patrol have been active in Mossflower, south of the Abbey."

"Yes … on the other side of the Moss. They couldn't have affected the situation here. And we've been monitoring them. As far as we know, they've had no direct contact with any rats, even on their side of the river. I don't see how they could be responsible."

"They may not have interacted with any rats directly, but those hares have met with lots of other local residents, and maybe some of them have. Like you said, it's all about getting the word out, and if that was the Long Patrol's aim, they've had ample opportunity to do just that. And that will work against us as surely as the rats raising the alarm amongst themselves."

"So what will you do about it?"

"I'm not sure. Latest word is they were returning to Redwall anyway. Detaining and interrogating them would likely have proven pointless, since they'd never have talked, especially if they were doing this on the orders of their Colonel, or the Abbot."

"Or the Abbess."

Custis shot Mina a searching look. "You told me she'd stepped down."

"Officially, yes. Unofficially … there's something about that mouse, Custis. It could be she only relinquished the Abbot's chair back to Geoff to take eyes off of her. I can picture such a scheme as you're suggesting originating with her more easily than with Geoff. She possesses an arrogant air of command, and would not shy away from any confrontation with us as her male counterpart likely would … and then there's her so-called link with Martin the Warrior, which seems to have granted her prophetic abilities of her own. If she truly is behind this, I fear we may be facing a formidable adversary indeed … and one whose maneuvering would allow Redwall to deny any official part in any moves to impede our operations."

"We never should have allowed those hares to wander as freely as we did."

"And what would you have done? Arrested them? Force-marched them back to the Abbey?"

"We did set up a cordon to steer them away from Gawdrey. If we'd pursued that strategy more actively, over a wider area, we could have expelled them from a lot of the places they ended up visiting."

"Perhaps. I can't see them easily cooperating with that, though. The Long Patrol can be quite recalcitrant and stubborn when they think they're in the right. It could have led to some … unpleasantness. And after what happened out in the Plains, the last thing we need is any more dead hares."

"Hrmph. It might not have made any difference anyway. As you say, they never even crossed the Moss. I suspect some other agents of the Abbey may be behind what we're facing now - ones who can cross a river without drawing the attention that hares would."

Mina looked blank. "Otters?"

"Well, not the way I was going with this, but now that you mention it, that's something we'll need to watch too, especially since we don't have any otters of our own. But no, I was speaking of birds. Redwall could very well be using their Sparra to spread the warning to rats on this side of the river, and there's very little we'd be able to do about it."

Mina seemed dubious. "Wouldn't our gulls spot such activity?"

"Not necessarily. Our gulls fly above the forest canopy. They're used to the open expanses of shore and sea, not woodlands. Sparra, by contrast, are quite at home flitting between the branches, or even flying below them altogether. The gulls could very easily miss sparrows ranging out from the Abbey, even ones crossing the Moss, and wouldn't be able to tell Abbeybirds from local residents in any event. Nor, I hazard, could we. Look, there goes a bird right now, flying through the branches just over there. Could you say whether it was from Redwall, after just that fleeting glimpse? Could you say it was a sparrow at all, and not some other species? I know I certainly couldn't. Even if we could capture and interrogate some of them, the way they chitter and natter, we'd never be able to determine whether they were innocent locals, or Abbey Sparra putting on an act. Or maybe the local birds aren't so innocent themselves; who's to say Redwall hasn't recruited some of them to work against us as well? We've never paid much attention to the birdfolk during this campaign, other than our own, and that may have been a mistake."

"I can't see what's to be done about it if that's the case. In spite of dwelling at the Abbey for several seasons, I'd not be able to identify most of the Sparra of Warbeak Loft by sight, especially out here. And I'm hardly in any position to go back there and remonstrate my former friends and neighbors for meddling in our affairs - although, if it's true, one of us will have to confront them on that sooner or later, I suppose."

"Perhaps not," said Custis. "There's a chance it might not be Redwall at all."

"Who else do you suspect?"

"Tolar."

"Tolar?" Mina gave a halfhearted laugh. "Haven't we been there already, and moved past that? Even if the incident with Mykola, and with all those rats escaping to Redwall, left a bad taste in your mouth, we never could prove Tolar's active involvement in that, and he's made no move to interfere with you or obstruct the campaign since then."

"That we know of. He did make that side trip to Redwall, after all - which would have given him ample opportunity to consult with their leadership over any covert operations they might have wished to coordinate between them."

"He went to Redwall to deliver the Realms, on Lord Urthblood's direct orders. And that didn't go particularly well, in nearly all respects."

"Maybe by that time he didn't care whether the Redwallers accepted the Realms at all. You were there. Tell me, did it seem at all like he was cozying up to the Abbess or the Colonel or anybeast else there who might be of a mind to work against us? Did he seek them out to consult with them in private?"

"Not that I can recall, although I was still getting over my injury, and hardly keeping an eye on him at all times. But I don't see why he would open himself up to that kind of trouble, especially after returning to Foxguard only to be welcomed by Jaffox. That's the biggest reason of all I doubt Tolar would involve himself in anything like this: he's got too many eyes on him. We've still got Gawtrybe there, and now Jaffox is there too. We'd know if any of his brigade was venturing out to disrupt our campaign in any way."

"He seemed pretty sure of Mykola's ability to go to ground and elude capture or detection - a confidence borne out by events. And his foxes would know how to cover their tracks. But they might not even have to do it themselves. Has Tolar ever adequately explained his preposterous plan for appointing that rabbit as Foxguard's Ambassador? Why did he even feel Foxguard _needed_ an Ambassador? And a rabbit, of all creatures? A rabbit who's currently making the rounds of the woods just to the north of here, as freely as the Long Patrol did across the river - except we've not paid nearly as much attention to that rabbit and his fox companions as to his hare counterparts. Do we fully know who Tolar's envoy has been meeting with, and what he's been telling them? The timing of the whole thing strikes me as highly suspicious."

Mina's expression of amusement verged on outright laughter. "If you knew Tibball better, you'd realize how ridiculous your suspicions sound. That bunny is about as far from spy material as I am from being a badger."

"Then maybe it's not Tibball. Maybe it's the foxes escorting him. Isn't one of them friends with Redwall's otter Recorder? That would fit my 'ridiculous suspicions' very neatly - use the rabbit as a cover while they quietly spread their own propaganda and sedition. _Somebeast_ is tipping off the rats in this area - even you can't deny that, Lady."

Mina heaved a deep sigh. "So what do you want to do about it? Detain Tibball and Roxroy and interrogate them?"

"We may as well. It's not like we've got any rats around here that require our attention."

"Not entirely true, Captain." Mina pointed at the ground. "The Long Patrol and Tolar's foxes might be experts at hiding their tracks, but the same can't be said for our absentee rats. So let's follow them, and see where they lead!"


	36. Chapter XXXV

**XXXV.**

 **CASTLE FLORET**

Of a piece with his demonstrated manner so far, King Fael kept Urthblood waiting another day for the private meeting the badger so urgently wanted.

If Alex had started to worry about wasting away due to denial of breakfast and lunch before the Liberation Day pageant, the nonstop banquet lavished upon Floret's guests in the wake of that presentation ameliorated his concerns. After taking a brief leave during which attendants cleared the Royal dais of scenery and reset it with dining table and chairs, Fael bounded back into the Grand Hall decked out in a fine silk tunic of blue, purple and black, making him look regal and businesslike at the same time, the image he seemed to most prefer. Circulating about the various tables - whilst pointedly avoiding the one occupied by Urthblood and Alexander - Fael chatted up and glad-pawed all his most important and esteemed visitors while Saqueena and the Prince and Princesses took their places at the elevated table, this time without bellowed prelude from Nicholson Badger. At last Fael joined the rest of his family on the dais to preside over the parade of appetizers, entrees, side dishes and desserts which would last well into the evening.

Alex also couldn't help but notice how spirits flowed far more liberally than during their previous meal here, the result being that a good share of King Fael's guests were feeling no pain long before the evening was over.

The Squirrel King would not, of course, allow himself to remain pinned down to one spot for so long, not even his exalted place raised above non-royalty, and was back making the rounds of his now less-inhibited, looser-lipped guests, even though it seemed readily apparent to the clear-eyed Alex that Fael himself had taken care not to excessively partake of any stronger drink, and thus remained fully in control of his sensibilities. It all fit with the overall picture emerging of Fael so far; what better way to know what your subjects truly thought of you than to get them drunk while you stayed sober, and then encourage them in a cheerful manner, drawing them out and exposing sentiments kept hidden at all other times?

With so many of the celebrants in various stages of inebriation, and some even drifting out of the banquet hall as the night wore on to seek amusements of various kinds in other parts of Floret, Fael was left little inevitable choice but to interact at least glancingly with the representatives of Redwall and Salamandastron. But their host kept their occasional collisions brief and on his terms, forcing all conversation to the banal and inconsequential as he continued to deflect all of Urthblood's requests for serious discussion and took thinly-veiled delight in doing so, almost as if going out of his way to bait the Badger Lord. At last Urthblood simply stopped trying, coming to accept who was the master here and forcing himself to sit back and let the evening play out as it would.

Alex gave thanks at the lack of further dancing, all of that having been gotten out of the way the night before, so this spared the Redwaller any more forced, prolonged standing about on weary legs. And with the more relaxed and less regimented atmosphere now holding sway over the celebrant gathering, with beasts wandering away at whim to pursue their own pleasures in their own way, the Abbey squirrel had no trouble finding a willing attendant to show him back to his chamber. Two days at Floret had taught him to be ready for anything, and he figured keeping well-rested would help in that regard.

This foresight served him well, for Alex found himself being roused out of bed very early next morning by a summons to attend the Squirrel King promptly, upon pain of death.

"Pain of death?" Alex repeated in disbelief, pausing in his washing and smoothing of his fur.

"I'm sure it was a touch of humor on His Majesty's part, sir," the stone-faced squirrel guard assured the Redwaller. "He's like that, especially around celebration days."

"Yeah. I've noticed."

Alex also noticed, as he was led through corridors and down stairs to a different part of the castle than he could remember being in before, that no sun shone through any of the windows he passed, and all that could be glimpsed of the outside world was the silvery sheen of a predawn summer morning. "His Majesty certainly has me up early. What does he consider so urgent that it had to be addressed before sunrise?"

"He did not say, sir."

"Hrm. After his energetic performance yesterday, and all the socializing and entertaining he did afterward, I'd have thought he might want to sleep in this morning."

"Oh, he very well may, sir. I never said His Majesty would be waiting on you. It may be some time before he joins you."

Alexander's eyes widened in surprise, although inwardly he told himself he ought not be taken aback by anything he encountered at Floret anymore, or by anything the unpredictable Fael did. Still, he was more than a little piqued by the possibility that Fael might have him rousted out of bed only to keep him waiting for some indefinite period until the Royal squirrel felt like making his appearance.

This worry proved unfounded. When the guard ushered Alex into the modest-sized conference room, he found King Fael and Urthblood already there, along with a third squirrel in senior guard uniform. The badger's presence surprised him, since Alex shared the same hallway with his stripe-furred nemesis and hadn't heard any castle attendant calling on Urthblood before him.

"I have been up since before midnight," Urthblood explained upon Alexander's inquiry on the matter.

 _Which means you probably never went to bed at all_ , Alex thought to himself, further fueling the widespread speculation that the Badger Lord never, in fact, slept.

"Now that you're both here," Fael began, "we can discuss the matters you've been so insistently pressing me on. And since I presume they pertain to aspects of state and security, I made sure Tammion Tesque was here too." He motioned toward the other squirrel, who stood regarding the two visitors while Fael remained seated at his desk. "Tammion's head of the Palace Guard, even above Thrubble and his otters, and sees to affairs outside Floret, in wider Southsward. I'm sure he'll be interested in whatever you had to say as well. So, shall we begin?"

Urthblood opened his mouth to speak, but before he could Alex said, "Your Majesty, this badger is not to be trusted. He has betrayed and violated the friendship, hospitality and sovereignty of Redwall, engaged in treacherous actions which have led to bloodshed and death on both sides, and placed wide parts of Mossflower under his tyranny, terrorizing segments of its population and subjecting them to displacement, arrest and death if they resist. He's no friend of Redwall, or of Mossflower. Make no bargain or agreement with him, sign no treaty, and concede nothing for which he asks."

"Well, that's a glowing endorsement, isn't it? Why don't you tell us how you really feel?" Fael looked to Urthblood. "And I take it you're going to agree with him one hundred percent, hm, Lord?"

"He speaks of rats," Urthblood rumbled in smooth, unperturbed tones. "One provision of my Accord with King Tratton calls for surrendering all the rats of the lands to the Searat Empire. I take it from what I saw during your historical re-enactment yesterday that your own opinion of this species ranks none too high, and that you might agree with me that our lands would stand better off free of them. Apparently Redwall disagrees, taking in many scores of rats in violation of the Accord, and has sought to interfere with this resettlement campaign in other ways as well. I bear no ill will or malice toward Redwall, or toward any other honest folk of Mossflower, and I most certainly have not subjected any part of that region to anything that could be called tyranny. But neither will I tolerate interference in what must be done. The only creatures who have suffered my displeasure in Mossflower have been those who intruded where they should not have, and sought to disrupt a peace which has saved thousands of lives on both sides."

"Ah, yes," Fael said, placing his paws at his lips, "the Accord. I have heard something of this."

"No doubt from Viceroy Korba, when he's not being forced to play a fox," Urthblood surmised.

"Hush, badger, and keep to your place. And no, actually, I had heard of it before then. _some_ news of the outside world does reach us here, much as that might surprise you. A peace between Salamandastron and the searats - not the kind of thing which would go unnoticed, not even down here. But this business with the rats of the lands, now, that's a new one. That does strike me as rather a bold undertaking. Are you sure you're not overreaching?"

"In seasons past, I tamed the Northlands, and brought peace and stability to wide swaths of that region which had only ever known war and strife. Now those same Northlands stand cleared of rats, almost to the very last one. Would you not welcome the same for Southsward, Your Majesty?"

"Ah. So you'd just send in your army to scour my kingdom clear of them, and have me trust in you to leave once the job's finished?"

"Not if your own forces are willing to do it, to our mutual benefit. Then it would only be necessary for me to assign a token oversight contingent of my own to Southsward, to serve in an advisory capacity and make sure everything proceeds in accordance with the larger peace. And once all your rats have been delivered to Tratton, it will be up to you whether you wish any of my forces to remain in Southsward at all, or whether you even care to establish formal relations with Salamandastron."

"So, let me see if I am getting this right, Lord. I can spare myself from having your invading hordes swarming over Southsward and running roughshod over my subjects by agreeing to commit all of my own forces to carrying out a policy worked out between you and the searats, which I had nothing to do with, and none of which affects me directly. How enticing you make it sound."

"Do you not wish to be free of your rats, Majesty? I alone can make it happen."

"You alone? Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much. Would it surprise you to learn that yours is the second such proposal I have received of late?"

"The other coming from the searats, I presume?"

"It seems both of you are most eager to sink your claws into my Kingdom, and both put forward the same pretext for doing so."

"Except that I am no searat, nor are any of my forces. I already possess my own seat of power, Your Majesty, and I do not seek another. I have brought with me the kinds of creatures you would be working with if you agree to cooperate with me in this endeavor, so that you might see them for yourself. Squirrels, mice - far preferable to searats, I'm sure you'll concur."

"Ah. But you came here seeking more than that, didn't you?"

"You are most perceptive, Majesty. The establishment of formal relations between Floret and Salamandastron, entailing perhaps an exchange of ambassadors and the signing of mutual defense agreements would, I feel, prove a boon to both of us."

"Mutual defense agreements?" asked Tesque, speaking for the first time.

"The forces I command are vast, and not limited to the furred species alone. My bombardier gulls contributed to the annihilation of nearly half of Tratton's naval power in the war that left him no choice but to treat with me. If you sign a defense pact with me, those forces will stand ready to defend you as well. If Southsward ever comes under attack by any hostile force, I will be honor-bound to come to your aid, since an attack on you would constitute an attack on me as well."

"And what leads you to believe we're not perfectly capable of looking after ourselves, and repelling any threat on our own?" Fael asked with a hint of affront.

"Threats may lurk beyond your borders which are also beyond your imagining, Majesty. Nearly thirty seasons ago, I received a prophecy, one I carved into the rock walls of Salamandastron to join those of my predecessors. This prophecy, which has driven me in all my choices and actions from that day to this, foretells of a great crisis in our lifetimes, a period of tumult and upheaval unparalleled in all the history of the lands. The urgency of that prophecy drove me to tame an untamable region, to forge alliances no other could have achieved, and to fight to a standstill the most powerful Searat Empire to ever arise. All I have done has been in preparation to meet this crisis. I took vermin into my service and put them under arms so that they could not later be turned against me. I wrested a peace from a reluctant searat foe so that I would not be bogged down in an endless war with Tratton in the event that an even more dangerous adversary should emerge. And now I clear the rats from the lands, in part to appease Tratton and keep our peace intact, and in part to remove from our midst another potential source of trouble. And now, Your Majesty, I beg an alliance with you, so that Southsward too may be protected from whatever disaster is about to break upon us."

"Don't believe him!" Alex warned. "Yes, there is a prophecy - I know, because I have seen it with my own eyes - but we at Redwall are convinced that prophecy names this very badger sitting here as the crisis his own prophecy foretells."

"A most incorrect and dangerous misreading of my prophecy," Urthblood asserted. "Do you even read Badgerscript, Alexander of Redwall? If not, you have never in truth read my prophecy at all. And I have never heard any Abbot or Abbess of Redwall tell me to my own ears that they hold me to be the crisis I foresee. So perhaps yours are merely the rantings of one disgruntled malcontent, and not the views of the Abbey at all."

"Oh? Then tell His Majesty what you told me at Salamandastron about Martin the Warrior - if you dare."

"I believe my prophecy names me as the greatest fighting beast of the ages, while many in Mossflower would grant that title to Martin the Warrior. Clearly, a discrepancy exists. I am not sure what else you would have me say."

"That you plan to fight Martin, and defeat him?"

"Those would be the words of a madbeast, would they not? Redwall's founding Warrior has been dead for countless generations, so I can never face him on the field of battle in any conventional sense. If I am to be proven greater than he, such a judgment of history will have to come out in its own time, for what mortal beast could duel with a spirit?"

"That's … that's not what you said," Alex pressed.

"Then perhaps you chose to misunderstand me, just as you have my prophecy. Your Majesty, this is all a distraction to what must truly be discussed. I assume Viceroy Korba came to you seeking some manner of alliance with Southsward. From what I saw yesterday, I can only surmise that you rejected his overtures outright, as I would have urged myself, had I been here to do so. Still, some confirmation on your part would be greatly appreciated, to reassure me that you would never consider such an alliance with Tratton."

Fael displayed clearly feigned and exaggerated surprise. "But if the two of you are now allies, Lord, why should you care whether I sign a treaty with him or not?"

"We are at peace, nothing more. If we were allies, why would we compete to see who could win your favor at the expense of the other?"

"Ah. But perhaps I don't care to favor either of you? Southsward has always gotten along fine without the help of any outside power to bolster us, and I remain unconvinced we need any such thing now."

"Did you not only yesterday present an historical play detailing how King Gael depended upon the help of outsiders to rid Southsward of Urgan Nagru?"

"Not really," Alex muttered under his breath. "He left most of that part out."

"King Gael was a fool," Fael spat, in a break from the reverence with which his forebear had been spoken up until now. "If he'd not let that fox and his rats into Floret in the first place, Southsward's own forces would have proven more than sufficient to repel that rabble from our lands. That's one reason we stage our yearly pageant: as a reminder to never drop our guard like that again, and to remain ever-vigilant against outsiders with armed followers promising their friendship to mask darker designs, be they fox, rat … or badger."

"I am neither Nagru nor Tratton, Your Majesty, and I sit here at my insistence but also your pleasure. If it be your will to spurn me and send me away from Floret this very morning, I will be disappointed, but I would also comply without protest. But it is my hope that you will hear me out further and grant my words due consideration in light of the stakes involved. Have your guard staff speak freely with Captain Abellon and Sergeant Witko, and any of my other soldiers, to gauge their spirit and honesty, and you will find we are neither conquerors nor tyrants - merely fellow woodlanders who seek mutual alliance to strengthen ourselves against the coming crisis."

"Perhaps we don't need any strengthening. We haven't just become more suspicious since the days of Nagru; we've taken other measures too, as Captain Tesque here will attest. We send out frequent scouting parties from Floret to gather reports from every corner of the Kingdom and to keep connections with the local populations strong. My otter and squirrel Palace Guard stand as more than sufficient to not only turn back any enemy who might seek to take this castle but also to pursue them in retreat and decimate their numbers - and they would not be alone. We have arrangements in place to raise a militia on very short notice should any such threat as Nagru ever again appear within our territory."

"And what if the threat is greater than Nagru ever was?"

Fael narrowed his gaze at Urthblood, and Tesque too regarded the badger with intent interest. "Just what _does_ your prophecy foretell, Lord?"

"As I have said, times of strife and upheaval, death and destruction, on a scale never seen before. It may be from one source, or several, or even many. I was forced to fight and slay my own brother for the rule of Salamandastron, and Badger Lord had never fought Badger Lord before in all the history of the lands. And then I fought a war with Tratton which left thousands of his rats dead, and many scores of my own soldiers as well. These unprecedented events may stand as part of the crisis I foresee, but if so, I fear they are only the opening acts, as it were. Much worse may still be to come."

"And now he's trying to start a war with Redwall, and take over all of Mossflower," Alex cut in. "Forget all his empty talk about not bringing tyranny to Southsward, Your Majesty, because that's exactly what he'll do. It's what he does … and why we at Redwall are convinced he's the crisis his prophecy foretells."

"I have done nothing to start a war with Redwall," the badger calmly protested. "Indeed, their interference in my campaigns has proven far more provocative than anything I have done, and I would maintain I have demonstrated admirable restraint in my dealing with them, even if their actions have warranted a stronger response. I do value relations with Redwall, regardless of what this malcontent sitting here might spew in his personal and unsupported umbrage."

Alex sat too flabbergasted by Urthblood's audacity to speak. As it turned out, Fael picked up his argument for him.

"It sounds to me, Lord, as if our Abbey friend here may be right about you after all. By your own admission, you fought a war against your brother and slew him, and then started another with the searats, and now make moves which seem to be antagonizing Redwall, much as you may deny it. Your own words seem to paint you as the instigator of all the recent strife in the lands."

"On the contrary, Your Majesty. As the older brother, the throne of Salamandastron was mine to claim whenever I cared to, and yet when I did, my maddened brother denied me. He and his hares could never have held the mountain against Tratton by themselves, and Salamandastron would have fallen and now sit under Tratton's flag - either that, or it would have taken a monumental effort and hundreds of woodlander lives to have liberated it again. And had I never forged my alliance with the seagulls, Tratton might still have captured the mountain in spite of my own power, and be at full naval strength rather than half what it was. Without my own campaigns, the searats might even now be encroaching upon Southsward with weapons you would stand powerless to counter. It may well be due to me that Tratton approached you with a diplomatic mission instead of explosive stormpowder to blast your castle walls."

"Well isn't that a dire picture … and quite a claim for yourself as well. Tell me, does your prophecy tell of any threat from the south specifically? South of Southsward, I mean?"

"Not specifically, no. But the events at which it hints will be so sweeping that they could come from any direction, or perhaps several at once. Why do you ask?"

Fael and Tesque exchanged a long, wordless glance before the Squirrel King returned his attention to Urthblood. "You came here to talk about rats, but those creatures are not uppermost in my mind just now. Lately we've had something else to occupy our thoughts."

"Yes, during our journey here we heard Skipper Dawton hint at some menace. In fact, providing us with a protective escort may have been one of his reasons for joining us. But so far, nobeast has clearly spelled out the nature of this menace to us."

"Ah yes, the good Skipper! Think I'll have him roused for this as well. Only fitting, since he organized the capture expedition."

"Capture expedition?" Alex probed.

"Oh yes. Fairly successful it was, if at a high cost. Yes, he'll definitely want to be there when I show you."

"Show us what?" asked Urthblood.

"What I have to show you, of course." Fael allowed himself a secretive smile, even if Tesque at his side showed no trace of amusement. "You see, it seems that lately, we've been having ourselves a bit of a dragon problem."


	37. Chapter XXXVI

**XXXVI.**

 **CASTLE FLORET**

Alex and Urthblood emerged from the conference room to find Abellon and Witko awaiting them in the corridor beyond, attended by their own Floret squirrels who'd roused them early to escort Fael and their own badger master. Mouse captain and Gawtrybe sergeant looked to Urthblood in some puzzlement, wondering at this sunrise summons and curious as to its significance.

Fael, with his typical casual superiority, announced, "I anticipated you'd want your two officers with you to see this, Lord, since it does fall roughly under military jurisdiction. I've sent for Dawton, who'll meet us down there, so no point in waiting, is there? Let's be on our way!"

As the group set off down the hallway with Fael and Tesque leading the way, Abellon asked Urthblood, "Down where? Where's he taking us, Lord?"

"Apparently he has a dragon to show us, Captain. I can tell you no more, since His Majesty has seen fit to illuminate me no further."

To their shared surprise, the castle visitors found themselves descending into the depths of Floret along a familiar route, one staircase after another until they once more reached the seventh subterranean level below the plateau, where the day before Banter Skadsley had conducted them through the castle's amusement halls. Instead of winding up at the sunlight-mirrored, pillared entry chamber, however, Fael and Tesque brought them out at some ancillary chamber, an alternate way into the playland obstacle course along its route, perhaps a part of the behind-the-scenes maintenance infrastructure. Alex for one was glad of this shortcut; if some matter of gravity were to be discussed here this morning, the mood would hardly have fitted a frivolous second pass through the many chambers of this place and their respective, sometimes physically-daunting challenges.

Skipper Dawton met them there, seemingly alone; it appeared he'd been to Floret enough times over the seasons to find his way around on his own, and that Fael trusted him enough to allow him that freedom. Taking in the entourage entering the chamber to join him, he said to Fael, "I see ye've finally decided to show 'em, Yore Majesty."

"That I have, Skipper. This badger comes to me with all manner of sweeping propositions and portents, so I thought he might as well be appraised of our own little problem."

"Not so little, Majesty," Dawton countered in mild protest, "if scores of dead woodlanders're anything to go by."

"Scores?" Alex clarified, looking to Fael. "You never indicated it was any kind of situation on that scale."

"Well now you know, Redwaller. Come along, and let me introduce you to the culprits - or one of them, at the very least."

As if incited by the sound of these voices out beyond its cage, the berserker bird two chambers away went into a squawking clamor, shrieking its daily protest to the mammals who dared to keep it captive.

"Oh, I do hope that feathered terror can keep its beak shut while we're down here," Fael lamented. "Hard to even think straight when it raises that kind of racket."

"Maybe you should just let it go then," Alex suggested with none-too-subtle sarcasm.

"Oh ha ha. I have a better idea. We'll just beat it soundly until it shuts up, or passes out. That's always done the trick in the past."

They emerged at the intersection between the room of mirrors and the live exhibits, the latter of which Skadsley had avoided the previous day. Now Fael, Tesque and Dawton led the way into that side passage, and soon they strolled amongst a veritable gallery of captive life forms.

The first thing to hit Alex was neither sight nor sound, but smell. As somebeast who'd visited the seacoast twice, and more recently spent actual days aboard the _Stronganchor_ during the short voyage from Salamandastron to Southsward, he'd come to recognize the briny scent of wave and wake, and that odor confronted him now, seven floors beneath a castle built atop a high plateau in the middle of the lands, far from any ocean. The Abbey squirrel soon found himself passing between the exhibits lending the salty air to this subterranean hall.

Giant glass fishbowls, most large enough for Urthblood to have totally immersed himself within, lined the aisle, each illuminated by mirror-backed lamps allowing the bowls' occupants to be clearly viewed by visitors. Into Alexander's mind flashed the accounts given by Winokur of the adolescent otter's swim off Salamandastron two summers earlier, detailing all the manner of strange and bizarre organisms he'd encountered in those coastal waters, some of which had found their way onto the Badger Lord's dinner table. Crustaceans dominated the attractions here, but these were as different as could be from the freshwater shrimp stocking Redwall's pond. Some of the prawns here did resemble their more familiar Mossflower cousins, to be sure, but other species bore radically different markings and coloration, unusual shapes and proportions, unidentifiable appendages, and size far beyond that of the diminutive Abbey shrimp. And then there were the crabs: spider-like, long-legged crabs, standing alertly on their pointy leg tips while staring back at the mammals through the glass with their stalked eyes; formidable edible crabs hunkered against the fishbowl walls with menacing pinchers raised as if fearful of being collected for the stewpot; flat crabs lying flush with the substrate in futile attempts to make themselves invisible; spiny crabs who sauntered about their confines like animalistic, ambulatory undersea thorn bushes; and playful hermit crabs, cavorting carefree with each other in their variety of borrowed shells. In one bowl Alex even spotted a very young lobster, reminding him of one particularly memorable feast he'd enjoyed during his first visit to the badger mountain.

Urthblood remarked upon a common feature of all the bowls: large stones sat upon the sand or gravel, constantly billowing out a nonstop stream of fine bubbles rising to the surface.

"Ah, yes. The airstones," Fael explained. "The secret to this entire aquatic gallery! A series of bellows, kept in constant operation by the underground streams far below - Skadsley did tell you about the underground streams, didn't he? - feeds a continuous supply of fresh air pumped up through a network of hollow reed pipes directly into the exhibit enclosures. Experimentation proved that the single biggest hurdle to maintaining living sea creatures was preventing stagnation, and keeping the water aerated. It was long believed the water itself would need to be changed on a daily basis to sustain them, which would be an impossibility this far inland, of course, but now you see that erroneous belief disproven! We do engage in some water changes, of course; several times each season, the otter holts stage a caravan upriver from the sea, bearing barrels of clean seawater to partly replenish the water here as it begins to foul. We also have cleaners to keep the bowls from becoming too gross. But it's the bellows and airstones which make the difference in keeping our sea creatures alive for extended periods. Even so, mortality is fairly high, I am forced to admit, and we are always bringing new specimens in from the coast to replace what we lose. Still, quite a triumph and achievement just to keep such creatures alive for many days at a time, so far from their natural habitat, so that the residents of inner Southsward might enjoy their unique novelty!"

"Yes," Alex agreed in somewhat contrary fashion, "one more diversion." Even so, the Redwall squirrel had to admit to himself how impressive this all was.

"At least that feathered squawker's finally shut up," noted Abellon. "That was really starting to annoy me."

Urthblood said to Fael, "I assume none of this has anything to do with the real reason you brought us down here, Your Majesty?"

"In time, in time! My, such an impatient stripedog! This way, if you please … or even if you don't." Fael, Tesque and Dawton led them forward between the remainder of the oversized bowls, passing by a cuttlefish who stared out at them with slitted, alien eyes as it lounged upon its bed of gravel, rays who cut through the water with flapping, undulating waves of their winglike fins as they swam to and fro, spherical urchins like faceless, undersea hedgehogs and starfish of assorted shapes and hues, and one particularly fascinating inhabitant of the very last tank.

The octopus, like the crabs and cuttlefish before it, stared out at the mammals with cold eyes resembling those of no land animal. Unlike those other creatures, however, a cunning and intelligence shone out from those eyes, letting the onlookers know that it studied them even as they studied it. Then, at the sight of Fael, the mollusk launched itself at the glass barrier separating them, suckered arms puckering and adhering to the glass while the beak at the center clacked and rasped against the unyielding, transparent surface.

Alex, Abellon and Witko all jumped back in alarm, while Urthblood typically stood his ground with analytical aloofness. Dawton gave a hearty guffaw. "Aw, no need t' be skittish, mateys! That's just Tembo's way o' sayin' hullo!"

Alex looked to Dawton. "Tembo?"

"As good a name as any," Fael explained, "and better than most, since I'm the one who chose it. Tembo's one of our longer-lived residents - been with us for seasons now. Doesn't seem especially fond of me, although I can't imagine why."

"I can't help but noticin', Majesty," ventured Abellon, "that most of your fish here aren't actually … well, fish."

"Oh? You mean with fins and gills and head and tail and all that? Yes, we've actually found that these more primitive forms do better in captivity than the more advanced, free-swimming bony fish. Did you notice the anemone tank? We've had that one going literally for years, with hardly any losses." Fael idly tapped the glass where Tembo's beak gnashed and scraped in frustration. "Although I suspect our sucker-tentacled friend here would try to bite my face off if he knew I was calling him primitive. Then again, he'd probably try to bite my face off in any event, so … "

Passing by Tembo's tank on the right and another to their left holding one of the fire eels - allowing them to see one of the lightning-emitting organisms up close, and to note just how truly hideous they were - they transitioned from an area of water-filled glass cauldrons to one of cages … and, to Alexander's surprise, most did _not_ hold birds.

The scorpion reared back, pinchers raised while its deadly barbed tail arched high above its segmented body, poised to deliver a lethal stab of venom. "Don't worry," Fael assured them, "it can't hurt you … as long as you don't get too close. Then its tail might be able to lash out between the bars and sting you."

"Don't hafta tell me twice," Abellon said nervously, mindful along with the others to maintain a respectable distance between themselves and the scorpion's enclosure. "Are you sure those bars are spaced close enough together to keep it from gettin' out?"

"Hasn't happened yet," Fael replied dismissively. "This horror was a gift from a trader from the south, who'd heard of my desire for unique and foreign specimens to exhibit here. Such monsters aren't to be found naturally here in Southsward, thank goodness. Same goes for this terror over here." The Squirrel King led them across to another cage holding an immense, brown-furred spider easily the size of an adult mouse, which was enough to make Abellon quail. "Another gift from faraway tropical isles. Splendid, is she not?"

"She?" Alex prompted. "How can you … ?"

"Not long after receiving her, she laid a large clutch of eggs. Sadly, none hatched. Conditions must not have been right for their incubation."

"Thank the fates for that," Abellon muttered to himself.

Passing by another cage housing a brilliantly-hued scarab beetle large enough to serve as a badger's footstool, their party at last reached the ceiling-high barred enclosure holding the now-becalmed berserker bird, who sat on its perch regarding them balefully. "Ah, good, you've settled down, you sorry excuse for a pillow-stuffer," Fael addressed to the avian.

"Squirrelking die, die die die!" it shrieked, launching itself at the bars with wings flapping and talons futilely grabbing and sharp bill ineffectively snapping and stabbing.

"Your exhibits don't seem overly fond of you," Urthblood observed.

Alex felt renewed outrage, nearly fit to match the bird's own, at the sight of a higher, sentient creature being so treated. Confining sea life and insects and arachnids was one thing, but this was quite something else. "What's its name?" he asked over the bird's noisy, malevolent fuss.

"Name?" Fael looked at Alex as if the Redwaller must surely be joking. "This ruffled ruffian doesn't have a name. At least none it's ever shared with us, and we didn't bother giving it one. Mustn't become too attached to one's exhibits, you know."

Alex couldn't help noticing how how Fael only referred to the berserker bird as "it," while even the big spider had at least carried the distinction of "she" … and that wasn't the only disparity the Abbey squirrel noted. "You named your octopus, but not your bird?"

Fael sniffed. "I daresay Tembo's a good deal more intelligent than this shriek factory. Only thing they have in common is wanting to rip my face off. Ah well."

Fael and Tesque made to move on to the next series of cages, their occupants not yet readily apparent, but Alex tarried behind at the berserker bird's enclosure. As the feathered creature fell quiescent once more, he drew as close as he dared and asked softly, so as not to be heard by Fael and his fellow Southswarders, "What's your name?"

The berserker bird regarded him oddly, as if no mammal had ever spared such consideration toward it before. At length it replied, "Skeen. Name is Skeen."

"Alexander of Redwall. I will do my best to get you out of here, Skeen. I can make no promises, but I will do what I can."

Skeen scrutinized him. "You not Squirrelking. Squirrelking hold all power, all others do as he says."

"I'm not from Southsward. I don't have to follow his orders. I come from a place where freedom and dignity are cherished, and no beast or bird would be confined as you are now. In fact, the sparrows who live in our roofspaces are friends and allies, and we work with them quite closely. I count birds as my friends, and it galls me to see any bird held captive in a cage."

Skeen regarded Alex in silence, considering his words. Up ahead Fael, realizing one of his party lagged behind, called out, "Move along, Redwaller, or you'll miss the good stuff!"

"Must move along. Squirrelking command it, all obey. But will remember kind words of squirrel-from-elsewhere." After a moment's hesitation, the bird added, "Skeen mother. Skeen misses eggchicks."

"Then maybe you'll see them again someday. I'll return when and if I can. Don't lose hope." With one last encouraging nod, Alex scuttled after the rest of his group to catch up.

In the last, fairly large group of cages, Alex discovered the last creatures he'd expected to find down here - although, in retrospect, and knowing Fael, he perhaps should not have been overly surprised.

"Well, at least now we know what happened to them," Abellon murmured.

In the first of this new string of cages, Viceroy Korba sat staring forlornly out at them, a trace of anxiety on his face upon seeing the implacable Badger Lord for the second time in as many days. The searat diplomat no longer wore the wolf pelt of Urgan Nagru, but rather ambassadorial silks which might have been fine the previous season but now showed the wear and dinginess of being worn for far too long without laundering. He had his cage to himself, but in several others beyond his, multiple rats huddled, penned together in mutual misery.

"Viceroy," Urthblood said to Korba with a nod of acknowledgement, taking in the other cages and then turning to Fael. "Is this the entire delegation you have .. 'exhibited' here?"

"Those that survived. Some resisted. They didn't last long."

"But, why here?" demanded Alex. "Why not in your dungeons proper? You've made no secret you have those too."

"We'd hardly be able to give public tours of our dungeons, would we? And how often do the good folk of Southsward get a chance to see dreaded searats in their natural element?" Fael glanced at Korba's cage. "Or at least in the element in which we'd ideally prefer to see them all."

"So you not only make captives out of a diplomatic mission, slaying some of them in the process, but you demean and humiliate the survivors by caging them for public display and amusement?" Alex looked from Squirrel King to Badger Lord and back again. "Maybe I'll just hold my silence from now on, since it appears the two of you deserve each other."

"Yes, Redwaller, silence might be a very wise choice on your part."

"I take it from what I see here that you've definitely decided not to engage in any negotiations with the searats, Your Majesty?" Urthblood said.

"It would seem not, wouldn't it? And I would deliver a jab right now as to the obtuse obviousness of your statement, except I suspect you were being obtusely sarcastic yourself. Most droll, Lord, most droll. I applaud you. Just don't make a habit of beating me to the punch - that would grow tiresome very quickly."

"You Majesty, as one party to the Accord between Salamandastron and Terramort, I must insist that these rats be released immediately. They may be my competitors in any negotiations I have with you, but they came to Floret under the flag of diplomacy, and are thus entitled to certain guarantees and protections."

"Hmm. I can guarantee that they are perfectly well protected right where they are. And what was your title again? Lord? Lord versus King … sorry, I outrank you. Here they will stay."

"In that case, I would beg a word with the Viceroy."

"Well there he is. Beg as many as you like."

"Alone, Your Majesty."

"Oh ha ha. No."

Urthblood appeared to accept defeat, at least for the moment. Korba, however, was not so quick to accept his captor's judgment, on his footpaws and grasping at the cage bars to bring himself as close to the badger as he could. "Please, Lord, at least convince 'im to set free me, if norat else! I'm Viceroy, King Tratton's paw-picked representertive an' high diplomat! This ain't right!"

Fael favored the rat with a scathingly appraising look. "I think I liked you better as foxwolf … although you were pretty pathetic even in that role too."

"Please, Lord," Korba continued to plead to Urthblood. "He's got us sharin' this hall with that insane killer bird, terrifyin' us with its nonstop racket an' threat'nin' t' slay ev'ry furred beast it can get its beak 'n' claws on, an' raisin' an earsplittin', nervewrackin' clamor day 'n' night! An' even that ain't as bad as what's lurkin' in th' next chamber down!"

This caught the interest of Urthblood and Alex and the others, while Fael and Tesque looked on in masked indifference. "Why?" the badger inquired. "What's in the next chamber?"

Korba's eyes went even wider, not with imploring but with fear. "A terror! A walkin' nightmare! That thing gets out, we're all dead! We've heard tell of what those things can do, an' not even bein' behind these bars would save us!" Korba pointed through the cage at Dawton. "Just ask 'im! He knows! Ask 'im how many otters he lost bringin' that monster in!"

Urthblood looked to the otter Skipper. "Now I _am_ intrigued. This is what you brought us down here to show us?"

"Verily and indeed, and all that." Fael set off once more, Tesque at his side as he waved for them to follow along into the next room along their route. "Come along, and let me introduce you to Southsward's most pressing current problem."

A single cage dominated this last chamber, guarded at its four corners by a quartet of otters in palace uniforms, all mindful not to stand too close to the bars. Fael and Tesque too took heed to halt several paces before the cage, wordlessly conveying to the rest of the party to do the same. Alex and the Northlanders stood staring at the cage's lone occupant with fascinated horror, while Skipper Dawton seemed almost hesitant to gaze upon it, as if the mere sight brought alive again a nightmare he'd just as soon not revisit.

Urthblood's reaction was very different, and the last thing anybeast there expected.

"Is this some kind of joke, Your Majesty?"

Even the nearly unflappable Fael was thrown by this. "And why would you say that, Lord?"

"Bringing us all the way down here, and building up this moment with such dire anticipation, only to reveal to us an empty cage?"

Now everybeast, including Abellon and Witko, stared at the badger as if his stripes had suddenly turned purple. "Uh, Lord, it ain't empty … " the mouse captain started to explain, but then the entity within the cage went into a thrashing, lashing frenzy fit to equal any outburst of Skeen's, bashing against the bars and setting the entire cage to rocking back and forth on its base.

"It does seem all my exhibits wish to kill me," Fael remarked dryly, overlooking the fact that it was in fact the badger's proximity which had triggered this latest reaction.

Urthblood scrutinized the cage. "Clever. Another mechanism, I presume, powered by the hidden underground streams?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Fael, who for a change genuinely didn't. "So, what do you think of my dragon? Bringing it here cost the lives of five of Skipper Dawton's otters."

"T'weren't all mine," Dawton corrected in a subdued tone. "We had all th' western holts workin' t'gether - that's how any of us got outta that alive."

"Your dragon is invisible," Urthblood declared, moving forward to inspect the empty cage more closely. "An entertainment for little minds, no doubt."

"I … wouldn't get too close if I were you, Lord," Fael teased in a singsong voice while the others looked on in alarm at what the badger seemed about to do. But Abellon and Witko held their ground, placing total trust in their master's judgment; how many times over the seasons, after all, had they seen him engage in risky or inexplicable behavior, only to have it turn out that he'd known exactly what he was doing the whole time?

Halting a pace from the cage, Urthblood reached out to tap at one bar with a claw, seeking a closer examination of this latest frivolous diversion of the Squirrel King's, for surely an unoccupied enclosure that knocked and vibrated as if inhabited by an invisible ghost could be nothing else. But then, at the very last moment, he sensed something that was not quite invisible, and not quite disembodied, and his mind flashed back to the ratmaid he could not see.

Urthblood made to withdraw, but too late. An unseen grip tightened around his paw, a hold as strong and tenacious as that of any badger's … but it was more than a grip. As he stared down in pained mystification, gashes appeared in his flesh as if by magic, deep raked gouges going almost clear through to the bone and gushing blood.

The Badger Lord let out an anguished cry - something he'd not done since losing his sword paw to his brother during the battle for Salamandastron - while all around him pandemonium erupted.

The four otter cage guards rushed around to beat at the attacker through the bars with the butts of their spears, an action which proved futilely ineffective. Abellon and Witko, meanwhile, ducked beneath the taller waterbeasts to lend their own blades to the melee, stabbing past the bars at whatever assailed Urthblood.

Standing back and aloof, Fael practically teased in an unconcerned voice, "Oh, you'll not kill it like _that_. You'll need to take its head clean off … and even then it might not stop fighting for a while."

Picking up on this taunt, Witko went from stabbing straight forward to making a single upward, through-the-throat-and-into-the-brain thrust. This seemed to do the trick, or at least enough; hauling back to free himself, Urthblood succeeded in pulling his mauled paw back half a pace toward him, even as the deathgrip remained, inflicting further flesh damage and torment. Abellon saw his opportunity, and delivered a single vicious swing at the space between the badger's paw and the cage.

Urthblood immediately felt the pain lessen, although it did not diminish entirely - now less an active raking and more a stubborn, persistent agony. Before his very eyes the offending extremity, now cleaved from its owner, materialized as if from thin air: a slender, scaly talon, shorn off just above the wrist, its talons still sunk into Urthblood's flesh in one final display of reflexive resistance.

Their master now liberated from the clawing horror, Abellon and Witko sheathed their swords and digit-by-digit peeled the clinging claw from Urthblood's assailed paw and cast it to the floor with a wet slap, after which they produced kerchiefs to wrap around the gashes and staunch the heavy bleeding as best they could.

"Lord, what were you thinking?" the mouse asked. "Why would you venture so close to something clearly so dangerous, leaving yourself open to attack?"

"The way it moved," muttered Witko, holding fast their makeshift bandages which quickly grew red and saturated. "Like green-scaled lightning … never seen aught like it. No squirrel could move that fast."

Urthblood, standing dazed while he allowed his commanders to minister to him, could only stare down at the severed reptilian claw lying on the floor at his feet. "What just happened?"

The four otter guards stepped back from the cage to join Dawton and the Palace Guard squirrels, their services now clearly no longer needed. Fael looked on with chiding disapproval. "I do believe you may have killed it after all. Now _that_ is most unfortunate. We only had one of them, and I very much doubt we'll be getting another anytime soon."

At the bottom of the cage, whatever thrashed there in its death throes subsided and lay still. Urthblood looked to the floor of the enclosure only to see a shiny green corpse coalesce out of nothingness and, now that it was dead, he could at last see what everybeast around him had been able to see the moment they'd entered this chamber.

The lizard was thin, whipcord thin, with slender toes on all four feet ending in sharp, curved nails and a long, thin, tapered tail that silently screamed of being a weapon every bit as lethal as the wicked claws. The oversized, slightly-crested head bore bulbous, partly-scaled eyes that protruded from either side of the skull, while the teeth revealed by the slack, gaping maw presented yet another weapon equal to tail and claw. Anybeast who found those jaws around its throat would be drawing its last breath. The entire creature seemed designed as a walking armory, able to inflict instant death in any number of ways. And …

"I could not see it," Urthblood murmured. "While it lived, I could not see it."

Without betraying whether he'd caught the badger's cryptic statement or not, Fael said, "And now you have seen the dragons who've been plaguing our southern reaches … and, consequently, since you now have, ah ha, firstpaw knowledge of what they can do, we can at last engage in some meaningful discourse on how you may be able to help us with this situation, if you are at all able and willing. Although I must say, your initial contact with the species strikes me as none too promising. Right now it seems the score stands at fastdragons one, Badger Lord zero!"

00000000000

"You're mighty lucky you didn't lose this paw too, Lord."

Urthblood sat in the surgery of Castle Floret, a sickbay similar to Redwall's but brighter, with more windows and whitewashed walls. King Fael's personal physician squirrel, Arius Hood, labored over the badger's ravaged paw along with his assistants, working to cleanse and stitch and bandage the horrendous wounds inflicted by the captive reptile. Alexander, Abellon and Witko had followed along up the ten levels, intent upon seeing how Urthblood's injuries and treatment would work out. Fael, Tesque and Dawton had tagged along too, resulting in a fair crowd now clustered in the surgery.

"Yes," the Squirrel King idly submitted, "if you'd lost your other paw, we'd just have to call you 'Stumpy,' wouldn't we?"

"Your compassion cheers me, Majesty. So tell me about these lizards plaguing Southsward - everything you know, whatever you can."

Dawton, the only beast present with direct experience in dealing with the murderous reptiles in the wild, took it upon himself to answer. "We call 'em fastdragons, 'cos of how quick they are - not only their reflexes, but they can outrun any hare, least over short distances. Seem t' be pretty good climbers too, with those claws o' theirs, tho' not sure how they'd hold 'gainst squirrels - so far they seem to've mostly avoided the more heavily wooded forest, preferrin' open sandy areas. If they have a name for themselves, we don't know what it is, since they don't seem to talk - at least not to us."

"Are they intelligent at all?" Urthblood asked. "Any evidence of tool use, or wearing of clothes?"

"Closest thing to garments we've seen on 'em have been straps an' harnesses, fer carryin' their weapons."

"Weapons?"

"Aye, Lord. Only one kind we found on 'em: thin, fine scimitars, long an' thin as they are themselves, an' razor sharp, fit to cleave limbs an' heads easy as y' please. All seemed of the same make an' craft, so unless they stole 'em all from some grounded ship or from some armory way to the south, it appears they forged 'em themselves - which would cast them as expert weapons makers."

"Hmm. So, definitely intelligent, at least on some level. You keep mentioning the south. You are convinced that's where they come from?"

"Don't see any other possibility, Lord. Egbert the Scholar has consulted the histories goin' back generations, an' there's no record of anything like this troublin' Southsward ever before. An' all the attacks seem to've been concentrated along th' southwest coast, or not too far inland from there."

"Attacks?" Alex prompted.

"Yeah, fer want of a better word. Started with isolated incidents, solitary beasts goin' missing, or small groups of two or three at a time. Then, it got worse - whole families, their homesteads turnin' up empty with no explanation, just vanishin' without a trace. Worst was late last season, an entire seaside village o' mebbe twoscore honest beasts, wiped out in one morn. No bodies by th' time we got there - just blood. Lots an' lots o' blood."

"What … do you think they're doing with the victims?" Abellon asked, not sure he wanted to know.

"Eatin' them is my best guess, matey."

"And how did you discover what they were?" Urthblood inquired of the otter Skipper. "How did you succeed in capturing one of them?"

"After they took out that whole village, I realized we hadta get to the bottom of it, find out who was behind it an' put a stop to it. So I headed back upriver an' put out the call to every otter holt in th' region, raised th' biggest hunting party Southsward's seen in a seadog's age, an' set out to find 'em. Find 'em we did, tho' t'weren't easy. Turned out they like spendin' most of their time when they ain't out murderin' an' maraudin' just buried in th' sand, only their eyes stickin' up if even that much, baskin' an' soakin' up the sun's warmth. Not sure what they do on cloudy or rainy days. But that's why it took so long to figger out what they were - literally layin' so low they was always overlooked."

"If this is true," asked Urthblood, allowing nary a wince as Arius Hood sutured his flesh without benefit of any topical painkiller, "how then did you finally discover them? Or uncover them, as the case may be."

"One squad under my command blundered right inta them, on the beach. The whole stretch o' shoreline just erupted with flyin' sand an' green shimmerin' bodies dealin' death. Those pore riverdogs never had a chance. Fortunately for the rest of us, an' for the success of our mission too, our main force was up on a ridge overlookin' the scene; don't reckon those scalies even knew we were there when they unleashed their ambush, intent on the otters about to walk right over them. When we saw what happened, we let fly with ev'ry spear 'n' sling we had, an' then they shore knew we were there! We thought we'd wipe 'em out in a trice, an' instead we found ourselves facin' the most terrible wave of attack anybeast might dread. Slingstones bounced right off 'em without slowin' 'em down, an' even some who'd taken spears through the middle joined in the assault. Right up the steep ridge they charged, dozens of 'em, a nightmare onslaught rushin' right at us with blades raised 'n' jaws wide 'n' tails lashin' an' claws rakin' an' them damned unnerving eyes all atwitch this way an' that. Even though we boasted superior numbers, t'was clear they meant to slaughter us to the very last beast - an' they prob'ly could've too, goin' by how our weapons were barely havin' any effect on 'em."

"Then how did you defeat them?" said Alex. "I assume you must have, otherwise you wouldn't be here now … and that lizard wouldn't have been downstairs either."

"Only one thing made th' diff'rence 'tween life an' death for us, matey, an' turned the tide of battle our way: nets."

"Nets?"

Dawton nodded. "When we set out to hunt down these murderous raiders, we took with us ev'ry fishing net we could scrounge up from ev'ry holt taking part. We didn't know what kind of foe we were facin', but one thing we knew for certain: no creature, no matter how big, strong, fast or ferocious, can do much 'gainst you if it's all tangled up in netting. So, when those terrors rushed us, we let fly with ev'ry net we had, big an' small - an' if our spears 'n' stones had done little to stop 'em, our nets shore did! One after another went down, their charge headed off before a single one of us fell. Took down over a dozen of 'em 'fore the rest wised up an' beat a hasty retreat. Those we netted thrashed an' fought an' scrambled to get free, still bent on bloodshed, so we jumped on 'em fast as we could to put 'em outta their misery. T'was then we discovered it took a lot more'n a single blade thrust to dispatch 'em; you could fill 'em full of holes an' still they'd struggle an' strain to get free and get at us. All I can say is I'm glad we had as many otters there as we did, 'cos it took at least two waterdogs to put down each one of 'em, even trapped as they were. Seen a lot in my seasons, but that's a day I'll remember above all others."

"Some got away?" Witko clarified, already working out strategies in his mind for how his own Gawtrybe might meet such a threat were they to encounter it. "How many?"

"Couple dozen, give or take. Thing is, if th' whole lot o' them had pressed their attack, they still mighta overwhelmed us, nets or no nets. After seein' what they could do, t'would only have taken a few of 'em to get amongst us to throw us inta disarray an' confusion, scramblin' ev'ry otter for itself. Bein' up on that ridge mighta made the diff'rence an' convinced 'em not t' try it, but I can't help feelin' t'was more to it than that. Like they weren't used to meetin' any kind of effective resistance from anybeast, or losin' any of their numbers, just rampagin' an' slayin' as they pleased with naught t' stop 'em. Good t' know now that they can be stopped - an' to even know what it is we're dealin' with, which we didn't afore - but can't help won'drin' an' worryin', now they've gotten an eyeful of us, whether they might adjust their own strategies t' try'n counter ours."

"Yeah, but if you've put 'em on the run, shown 'em how vulnerable they are … " Abellon put forth hopefully.

Dawton displayed far less optimism. "Took an entire muster of a whole region's otter holts t' come out on top like we did. We can't have a force like that standin' ready ev'rywhere at once. Worst an' most unsettlin' of all, we later got word of another woodlander settlement bein' hit an' wiped out, an' that woulda happened 'round the same time as our own engagement, so it hadta be a diff'rent group o' those dragons. Turns out the nest we stumbled 'pon ain't their only one, or even necessarily their biggest. We're gonna lose more villages 'fore this is over, no way we're not."

"So now you see what we're facing, Lord," said Tesque. "Even if they only numbered a few dozen, or a fewscore, they would represent a dangerous nuisance needing to be dealt with. But now it seems they might number in the hundreds, which would present us with a serious crisis. Hundreds of battle lizards, able to do the things Skipper Dawton has described - that would tax our defense forces to their very limit. And if perchance they surpass mere hundreds, and mobilize to throw their masses against us all at once … " Tesque shrugged. "I fear they could pose a threat to the very existence of Southsward."

"Floret would never fall, of course," Fael said with absolute confidence. "We're atop a high plateau, with our moat and drawbridge, and multiple ranks of defenders. We have underground springs we can tap into for drinking water in an emergency, and we can lay in enough surplus food to last out a seasons-long siege if we have to. But since I am a beneficent ruler who cares for the safety and well-being of my subjects in all parts of Southsward, I cannot think only of myself and my family. My Kingdom is threatened, and that threat must be countered, blunted, turned aside and eliminated. The good creatures of Southsward deserve security and peace, and look to me to provide it."

"Now that we know nets pose a weakness for these reptiles," Tesque picked up, "we're outfitting all our field patrols with them - otters for the coastal and river regions, squirrels for the forested areas - but this may not be enough. Even Skipper Dawton will concede that only a fair amount of luck allowed his holts to persevere in their encounter with these lizards. We can't rely on luck all the time, especially if the fastdragons change their tactics."

"And that's where you come in, Lord." Fael stepped around to fully face Urthblood even as Arius Hood continued to stitch and bandage. "A military beast such as yourself - a veritable warlord, dare I say it? - who boasts of taming untamable lands and winning victories over mighty searat empires must surely know a great deal about many different ways of waging war. You came to me begging an alliance … very well. You show us how to defeat this enemy we face now, and you'll have your alliance. Sound like a deal you can live with?"

"Indeed, Majesty. Even were an alliance not riding on this, I would still have made suggestions on how to better meet this threat, at the very least, and perhaps have offered my own leadership and forces more directly. I can call down reinforcements from Salamandastron and Mossflower, and even the Northlands if need be, to work alongside your own defenders, under our joint direction. I understand that the well-being of Southsward is your primary concern, but mine is the safety and security of all the lands, and if these lizards truly number in the hundreds or thousands, they may represent a part of the great crisis foretold by my prophecy. I see now that my visit to Southsward at this time might go beyond the merely fortuitous to the fated."

"Splendid. I will leave it to you and Tesque and Skipper Dawton to work out the logistics and details between you." Fael's gaze dropped to Urthblood's paw. "Although I must say, your initial encounter with just one of our dragons - and a captive one at that - hardly instills in me great confidence as to my choice of ally. Perhaps the searats might be worth listening to in this regard after all."

Abellon and Witko gaped at the Squirrel King as if Fael were utterly mad to even broach such a suggestion, while Urthblood only said calmly, "Need I remind you, Your Majesty, it was I who forced Tratton to the bargaining table, not the other way around. The searats possess formidable naval power, but your problem lies on the land. As such, I would staunchly maintain an alliance with me makes far more sense than one with them."

Fael's eyebrows danced in bemusement. "Or, perhaps, an alliance with both of you?"

"That would, I fear, prove most … unwieldy, Your Majesty."

"Hmm. Well, that would be your problem to address, wouldn't it? Why should I tie myself down to just one would-be savior when I have two begging my favor? And you know how I like my contests. Therefore, I propose to allow each of you to demonstrate how you would help us defeat our dragons. Whichever of you convinces me you're better able to handle this job will win the alliance you seek."

Urthblood turned a severe look at Fael. "This is not just another of your games, Majesty."

"Sure it is. All of life is a game. And with stakes as high as those we're talking about here, I'm hedging my bets. How can I not, with so much riding on the outcome?"

Arius Hood finished tying up the last bandage around Urthblood's paw. "There, Lord, I think that does it. I've done all that I can, so the rest is up to time and nature now. I'd advise against any strenuous use or trying to hold anything heavy for the next few days while the stitches do their work. The damage to the flesh was extensive, but I think you'll recover fully. I wish all my patients were as calm and uncomplaining as you! Then again, I suppose battlefield injuries are nothing new to you, are they?"

"No, Doctor, they're not. So tell me, are these dragons at all venomous?"

Hood gave a wan smile. "If they were - their claws, at least - I'm sure you would have known it long before now. Venom in wounds tends to burn in a most agonizing fashion."

"This is true. Your Majesty, I must implore that nothing be done with the body of that reptile until I have had a chance to examine it closely. Please have it stored in a safe place until my paw is working again, preferably someplace cool to slow corruption and decay. I suspect a thorough study of this enemy may provide some useful insight to aid us in our struggle against them."

"Hmm. I was going to have it stuffed and mounted for permanent exhibition - I imagine it would generate nearly as much interest in that state as it did while alive, and will be much safer to show the little ones as well - but I suppose that can wait until after you've conducted your own studies. As long as you promise not to do anything to affect the corpse's displayability."

Alexander's ears went back; it seemed Fael never ceased to surprise him with his casual aloofness and hedonistic outlook. "After everything we've just discussed about how dangerous these creatures are, all you can think about is what kind of attraction they'll make in your amusement hall?!"

"That's not _all_ I'm thinking about, Redwaller. But I'm confident our dragon problem will turn out to be a temporary one, whereas Floret will stand forever, so why shouldn't we tend to preserving such a token of our current times for the entertainment and elucidation of future generations?" He turned to Urthblood. "Speaking of which, Lord, I don't suppose you'd mind bequeathing your remains to us upon your own demise? Quite a dramatic diorama that would make, you and the dragon that maimed you standing squared off against each other."

While Witko and Abellon could only look on agog at such a preposterous affront, Urthblood merely replied, "I will not dignify that with an answer, except to point out that badgers have very long lifespans, so I imagine my death will not occur until long after yours. And when it does, I hope to be interred within the halls of Salamandastron, in the grand tradition of Badger Lords of the mountain."

"Hmm. Sounds to me as if you _did_ dignify that with an answer, Lord. But ah well. Pity - the two of you would have complemented one another so nicely, each with your own missing paw. Then again, with the violent and uncertain warrior's life you lead, who can say what other parts of you will be missing by the time your seasons end? Especially if you go unwisely poking at dangerous creatures."

"Just why _did_ you do that, Lord?" Abellon inquired of his master. "Did you not … see the danger that lizard posed?"

"No, Captain. I did not see it. But I stand illuminated now. Your Majesty, please allow me two days to heal, then I will perform my examination of the lizard. After that, I may have some better idea how to proceed, and how to aid you with this crisis. And then we may talk about who will stand better qualified to serve as your ally against this threat - me, or the searats."


	38. Chapter XXXVII

**XXXXVII.**

 **TERRAMORT**

"I think I'll name 'er … the _Seabolt_! Aye, that oughta do nicely! 'Cos crossbows fire bolts, you see? An' this ship will be carryin' the biggest bolts ever to be deployed at sea!"

After several days and nights of tireless work, the labor crews of Terramort's subterranean shipyards had successfully installed Clucus's latest superweapon on the top deck of the seized trader vessel formerly known as the _Goodwill_. Now that massive turntable supporting the impossibly-oversized crossbow took up the entire amidships area, effectively cutting the ship in two, since there was no way to get around the ridiculous war engine to pass from the fore deck to the aft. Such passage could now only be achieved by clumsily clambering over the turntable itself, or by descending belowdecks and traversing the companionways there … which might or might not entail encountering the Goodwill's former master, still shackled and all but forgotten deep within his own hold.

Now the ferret inventor stood upon the stone dock of the assembly caves, all but squeeing in delight over the completion of his latest endeavor, which met his every satisfaction. Spymaster Uroza, however, was quick to throw cold water over Clucus's elation.

"King Tratton alone gets to name the ships of the Fleet. You know that."

"Well, yes, but, the _Seabolt_ 's not really yet joined the Fleet, has she? Still got 'er trials to go through, 'fore that becomes official. So I'll call 'er the _Seabolt_ until she does, an' mebbe by then she'll have proved 'erself enuff to've earned that name. 'Sides, with His Majesty away on long business like he is, might be some time 'fore he's back and can give this his proper attention. And even then may'aps he'll like th' name, an' decide to keep it after all."

"Yes. Whatever. So, shall we get her out into the daylight, to make sure you haven't made her so unwieldy and top-heavy that she capsizes with the first modest waves to hit her?"

Clucus clambered aboard the new waveborne battle engine to join the skeleton crew who would sail her out into the open main, while Uroza elected to follow along in _Fleetrunner Fourteen_ , preferring the tested smaller craft to the untested larger one. As it turned out, the spy chief need not have worried about the integrity and stability of the newly-named _Seabolt_ , for the modified trader vessel held up well to both wind and ocean current. Under the ferret's direction, the _Seabolt_ made three triumphant complete circuits of Terramort Isle, the steersrat Marbert nodding his approval of the vessel's ease in handling.

"Aye, I'd take this boat out in all but a howlin' gale - no troubles with the added topweight t'all, surprisin' as that is. I'll gladly serve as skipper fer th' sea trials!"

The _Seabolt_ 's seaworthiness now demonstrated, Marbert took her around to the harbor on the west side of Terramort, where the traditional wooden ships of the Fleet tied up when in port. There he docked and disembarked onto the pier, where Uroza already stood waiting. The pilot approached the dark Spymaster with considerably greater trepidation than Clucus did; the ferret's unique position in Tratton's military hierarchy may have left him cluelessly nonchalant about interacting with the most feared and powerful rats of the Empire, but for his own part Marbert felt he'd rather have to face down the Searat King himself than report personally to Uroza.

"Well?" the spyrat prompted.

"Sails like a dream, uh, sir. Should be no trouble takin' her out on the open main."

"Very good. Then you can have the honors. We've chosen the Doldrums, two days due west, as the ideal spot for the weapons test. This time of year it should be quite calm and free of storms, to allow for clear shots … although that will fall to Clucus, not you."

"Um … "

"Yes, Marbert?"

"This craft's got no rowin' galley, just 'er sails. If we're goin' to a patch o' sea so becalmed, might have trouble gettin' outta there once we're in it."

"That shouldn't be an issue. You'll be accompanied by the frigate _Gullslayer_ , and they'll have a full crew to staff their galley if rowing becomes necessary. She'll be able to tow you out if they have to."

"Um, aye. Ah, perfect, aye. Uh, will you be comin' with us, sir?"

"With His Majesty away from Terramort? Of course not. I'll make sure a fleetrunner is with you, but I won't be on it. Now, as to the fourth member of your convoy … " Uroza turned to indicate the trader vessel _Oyster Princess_ tied up across the pier from the _Seabolt_. "We've already transferred all the land prisoners from the _Gullslayer_ 's galley onto this target vessel, one of the few woodlander craft in our surplus to feature a rowing galley of her own, and in an advanced enough state of disrepair to be expendable for this test. Will that suit your needs, Clucus?"

The ferret, having disembarked along with Marbert, studied the profile of the _Oyster Princess_. "Ain't exactly the kinda formidable warship we'd likely face in battle … "

"In battle? If war with the beasts of the lands ever resumes, we'll be firing on exactly ships like this, not like those of the Fleet. Besides which, the presence of a rowing galley on this one suggests it was indeed at one time a searat or corsair vessel, if a smaller one, that somehow found her way into the paws of woodlanders sometime over the seasons. That should make it the perfect test subject."

"Oh, aye, when you put it like that … "

"Now, I assume you'll want to be underway at once?"

"O' course, o' course. Soon as Skipper 'ere says we can."

"There, uh, is one thing … "

Uroza looked to Marbert. "Yes?"

"That mouse cap'n's still chained up down belowdecks. Shouldn't we slay 'im or have 'im transferred off 'fore we sail?"

The Spymaster, in a rare show of outward emotion, allowed the ghost of an evil smile to play across his black lips. "Why not keep him right where he is? Assuming he'll not be in your way, of course. I suspect he might enjoy seeing what we've done with his vessel. After that, I'll leave it to you as to whether that will be the last thing he ever sees."

 **SALAMANDASTRON**

Word of Trelayne's death quickly filtered down through Salamandastron. Now, with Klystra resting up in his aerie as he awaited further orders, Matowick hastened to the lowest levels of the mountain fortress where these tidings had yet to reach, intent upon personally delivering this somber news to the one creature likely to be most directly affected by the glassmaker marten's loss.

Tolomeo stood swaying upon his articulated wood-and-steel legs as he absorbed what the Gawtrybe captain had just told him, leaning heavily on the cane Matowick had made sure to give the mouse before dropping this bombshell. The apprentice glassblower - perhaps now an apprentice no more - simply stared at the squirrel in shocked, uncomprehending dismay in the middle of his workshop, all his current projects set aside and forgotten for the moment.

"Master Trelayne … dead?"

Matowick nodded. "We all knew he harbored a deep enmity toward searatkind. Captain Klystra is convinced Trelayne somehow saw through Tratton's disguise and realized he was the Searat King, and acted almost on impulse to try to slay him, leaving Tratton no choice but to defend himself. A truly great tragedy, as everybeast at Salamandastron would agree."

Tolomeo remained silent for many moments, his vacant gaze looking far past the squirrel standing before him. At length he asked, "What is being done about this?"

Matowick sighed. "As I just said, Tratton acted in self-defense, as was his right. Everybeast there saw it. There's no way we can exact any penalty from the searats for what was a justifiable act on Tratton's part."

The mouse shook his head. "No … no, that's not what I meant. Trelayne was my master, the chief and most skilled glassmaker in Lord Urthblood's service. I'm merely … well, his assistant. And now you're telling me the master won't be returning, not ever. Which leaves only me. I am not up to this task, Captain! Half the time I need to do my blowing seated, because I lack the stamina to remain on these wooden legs for long stretches! I will never be able to meet all His Lordship's needs just by myself, on my own!"

Matowick glanced around the work area. Only one oven was lit, that being all Tolomeo required for his solitary labors, and the vitriol tubs lay empty since the mountain's depleted supplies of beeswax left no way to craft deliverable vessels to contain the corrosive fluid - not that the legless mouse likely bemoaned an excuse not to work with the deadly substance which had so maimed him.

"We are at peace now. The Accord holds. Tratton would not dare try anything against us at this time, not with himself alone and at our mercy in the heart of the lands with just a token guard protecting him and no way to quickly summon reinforcements from the coast. We have enough oil-filled globes in reserve to burn any hostile ships that come our way, and more could be produced quickly if the need arose."

"Not that quickly. I'm only one mouse, Captain - and not even a full mouse at that. How many oil globes does it take to fully fire a searat ship? Thirty? Fifty? What if an entire invasion fleet appears at our shores, and we only have enough ammunition to fire one or two of them?"

"We can safely assume that won't happen anytime this season, since it will take most of that time for Tratton to finish his tour of Mossflower and return, and he'd dare not order an attack while he's cut off from his own Empire like he is now. And besides, Lord Urthblood would not have embarked on his voyage to Southsward had he foreseen any such thing happening. That by itself reassures me more than anything that nothing untoward is likely to happen in the near term."

"Untoward?" Tolomeo echoed hollowly. "You mean, like Master Trelayne getting killed?"

"An extremely unfortunate and no doubt isolated incident. I doubt it will carry any long-term implications for the lands. We already fought our war with Tratton, and we won - a fact even he tacitly acknowledges by embarking on this walking tour of his."

"Then why has Lord Urthblood insisted, ever since the Accord, in maintaining significant stockpiles of arms to meet any resumption of hostilities?"

"Perhaps as a necessary deterrent, perhaps for some other reason. You know of his prophecy, and you know Tratton and the searats may not even be the greatest part of the crisis he foresees. We must stand ready to meet any number of possible threats, whatever they may be."

"All the more reason then for me not to be left alone down here to run these shops. Kyslith must be recalled to Salamandastron to help me."

"Kyslith has resigned as Trelayne's apprentice, and is now assigned to Foxguard - at his own preference, it appears."

"He only resigned as Trelayne's assistant; if he works for Foxguard, then he is still in the service of Lord Urthblood, as are we all, and must go where that badger commands. And I would contend that once His Lordship is fully appraised of these matters, he will concur that Kyslith belongs here at Salamandastron, since Trelayne no longer will be."

Matowick pursed his lips. "Lord Urthblood would need to be informed of this incident in any event, so I will ask him about Kyslith as well, and wait on his reply. It's not as if time is an important factor in any of this, so there's no rush. We'll abide by his decision, when it arrives."

Mollified, Tolomeo nodded. "So, where is Trelayne now?"

"His two Gawtrybe escorts are bearing him here to Salamandastron, along with two of Sergeant Poinsett's squirrels reassigned from the detail sent out with Tratton. It will take them several more days to get here, with such a burden. Which brings up another question: did Trelayne ever express any interest or desire in where he wished to be laid to his final rest?"

Tolomeo stopped to think about this. "Well, I know he had a cottage up in the Northlands where he dwelt for many seasons, and he spoke of it often, but he also spoke of what went on there at the end, with Mona's sister and the searats, especially after my own accident which seemed to trigger traumatic memories for him, so I don't imagine he'd wish to be returned there. All his later seasons were devoted to service to Lord Urthblood, so he may as well be interred here as anywhere. As much as he preferred to work on his own with just his assistants, away from the eyes and accolades of the wider world that benefitted from his talents, he's earned a place of honor here, as certainly as any warrior ever has."

"I would agree with that - and I'm sure Lord Urthblood would too. I shall ask him about that as well in my dispatch. Was there anything else you deem I should add?"

"I … not that I can think of, Captain."

"Very well. Let me know if anything else occurs to you. I'll go see to this now. And again, my condolences, Tolomeo."

"Thank you, Captain."

Matowick took his leave of the glassmaker mouse - now Salamandastron's sole practitioner in this area - to seek out Klystra up in his aerie. Tolomeo's words regarding Kyslith's recall and the state of the mountain's glass-based arsenal echoed in his head as he strode the rock passages, and filled him with a certain disquiet. Was it at all likely that Tratton might launch an attack anytime this season, whilst he wandered the inner lands, cut off and vulnerable? Logic suggested not, but then, might that not constitute the ideal time for a surprise assault, when all indications pointed against it, and Salamandastron's defenders might stand less vigilant than usual? Could Tratton's walking tour represent a diversion in and of itself, setting up a scenario under which he could not possibly renew hostilities, and then seize that opportunity to do just that, blindsiding everybeast? And then there was the fact that Tratton now knew Urthblood was away from the fortress, and that the mountain stood more lightly defended than at any time since Urthfist's reign. The Searat King lacked birds to coordinate any wide-ranging actions as the Badger Lord could, but might he not have some other way of sending messages quickly over long distances? After all, Salamandastron and Foxguard could communicate through flashes of their signal mirrors, without any birds at all, so who could say what Tratton and his inventors might have devised? Nothing could be counted out, and nothing taken for granted.

All of which left Trelayne's death as more than an unfortunate tragedy; the marten's loss represented a logistical and strategic blow to the defensive forces at Matowick's disposal. In the event that Tratton did engage in the desperate gamble of an all-out assault, sending a half-dozen or a dozen of his wood-and-canvas vessels into harm's way, each packed with hundreds of armed fighters, the mountain's defenders would be hard-pressed to turn back such an attack, not if they could only burn two or three of those ships. His Gawtrybe were good, but not so good that they could hold off a hostile force outnumbering many times over his current contingent of a mere fifty. They would eventually be chased back into the fortress in a purely defensive position, and not just by superior numbers; once Tratton unleashed his stormpowder salvos, all creatures valuing their lives would be chased off the slopes, and down from the plateau, and perhaps even from all seaward-facing windows and chambers and corridors, leaving the searat invaders free to mass on the shores unmolested to form up for their next phase of attack: a direct assault on Salamandastron, fighting for entry and, if succeeding, battling along the tunnels for every pace of captured territory in the nastiest, most brutal bloodbath the coastlands had ever witnessed. Maybe if they still stood at their peak of three hundred Gawtrybe prior to the Accord, or even the one hundred they had after the Mossflower deployment to initiate the rat resettlement efforts there, they might have a chance of holding out, of exacting too high a price to make such a gambit worth Tratton's while. But with Witko's score down in Southsward with Urthblood, and Poinsett's score-and-a-half accompanying Tratton through Mossflower, they might well find themselves besieged and overwhelmed, with not even the addition of Tillamook's hedgehogs and Mattoon's mixed weasel brigade being enough to turn the tide.

Could this happen? Probably not - but as acting commander of Salamandastron he could not assume anything. Most likely it would not come to pass, or if it did, it would not do so right away, which would grant him some breathing room. Room enough, ideally, to recall Kyslith from Foxguard and have him and Tolomeo step up production of the glass globes which could be filled with flammable oil to be dropped on any searat ships that threatened these shores.

Matowick had already decided he would include Tolomeo's request in his dispatch to Lord Urthblood long before he reached the raptors' resting balcony. It only made sense, after all - and what did Foxguard really need with a glassmaker of its own?

The Gawtrybe captain stepped out into the shadowed recesses of the overhung nesting area. Klystra sat within his own circular straw bed, recuperating from his recent flights and regaining his strength for the vital forays yet to come. Across the hangar Saugus also rested, napping away the daylight hours to be fresh for his own nighttime escort of Tratton's party.

Bypassing the slumbering owl, Matowick approached Klystra. "Captain, I will need you to fly down to Southsward and seek out Lord Urthblood there. He must be informed of what happened with Trelayne, so he can let us know what he wants to do about it."

"Do about?" The falcon blinked as if uncomprehending. "What to be done? Glassmarten dead, not made alive again, Tratton not be be punished, acted in own defense."

"There are other things. The burial arrangements, for one, and the matter of coastal defense, now that we stand deprived of our most experienced glassmaker. I shall prepare a carefully-worded dispatch for you to bear, explaining it all."

"My duty to escort King Rat, make sure no further trouble there. Should be getting back to them soon."

Matowick shook his head. "Lord Urthblood needs to hear what happened to Trelayne from a witness to those events. You were the senior ranking officer on scene, after all. Commodore Altidor can spell you with Tratton until you return. Right now, it's more important that you report to Lord Urthblood personally."

Klystra sat quietly for some moments. "Have never been to Southsward."

"Well, it can't be too hard to miss - big green forested region below the wastes below Mossflower, with a big castle right at its center. Just start at the palace, see if he's arrived there yet. Or, fly down along the coast to where the _Stronganchor_ 's tied up, and then fly straight inland from there. You're bound to locate him sooner or later."

"Make it sound very easy. Think will not be so easy."

"If you go by way of the coast, I can assign a couple of gulls to accompany you. They'll be useful, at least up until you rendezvous with the _Stronganchor_ , where you can take a more detailed report from Captains Whiskersalt and Wakefern if you wish, although we already know from our other gull scouts that Lord Urthblood disembarked and struck inland without incident, and without interference from the two searat ships anchored there, so I doubt they'd be able to tell us much more than that. And as for how helpful any gull escorts would be to you once you strike inland yourself, that's something I'll leave to you feathered folk to work out between yourselves. But even if you have to make the final leg of your journey by yourself, you have - "

"Final wing of flight," Klystra interjected. "Correct terms, please."

"Ah, yes. Even if you're on your own for your final stretch, I'm confident your officer's expertise and judgment, and your seasons of experience, will allow you to find Lord Urthblood and deliver your report in good time. Just take some extra caution as you approach Floret, if your mission carries you that far; the royal court beasts there might not be accustomed to receiving raptors as we or even Redwall are, and might be of a mind to shoot first and ask questions later if they see you as threatening."

"Will keep in mind. Will approach gentle as fuzzchick."

"That … would be advisable," Matowick said with a half-chuckle, amused by the falcon's choice of words and the mental image they conjured. "It's important that this report, and your on-the-scene observations of these events, reach Lord Urthblood, and that his response reaches me. I'll leave you to rest a bit more now, while I go compose the dispatch for you to carry. Until then, Captain … "

Down in his private quarters, Matowick sat with parchment, ink and quill, mentally sifting his words in order to say to Urthblood most precisely what he wanted to convey. As he strove to concentrate on his written language, a stirring at the doorway from the bedchamber intruded upon his awareness.

"This might not have happened if you'd been there … as you'd been ordered."

The Gawtrybe captain set down his pen and turned to look at his wife, standing there cradling Elberon in her arms. "And what would I have done, Perri? What exactly could have changed that outcome? Trelayne recognized Tratton through his disguise, and moved to assassinate him. Was I to step in front of him, and take the blade meant for Tratton in my own chest? And maybe Tratton's blade in my back as well, as that rat acted to defend himself? It all happened too fast for Poinsett to do anything about it, so I likely would have moved no quicker … and maybe even not as quickly, distracted as I would have been by constant worry over the state of things here at Salamandastron."

"Those sound like excuses to me. And justifications, and rationalizations … and dodges."

"Duly noted … Lieutenant."

Perricone stiffened, causing a momentary cessation of the squirrelbabe's cooing; this was the first time in their disagreements over this matter that Matowick had invoked rank. "Are you going to notify Lord Urthblood about all of this?"

"Of course."

"By gull?"

"No. I'm sending Klystra. He was there to witness the incident, so I felt it's important he report to His Lordship directly to relate his observations as well as my own dispatch."

"Ah. Will your dispatch include the fact that you did not accompany Tratton, in violation of direct orders?"

"I … haven't decided yet. I'm still composing it."

"If you don't, will you also order Klystra not to reveal it either?"

"Klystra is a fellow captain; I'm not sure I'd be able to issue such an order to him and have it stick. Besides, that bird would then demand to know why I would insist upon such a thing, forcing me into an awkward explanation."

"That confession would deserve to be awkward, since it would constitute a guilty admission." Perricone paused. "So, if you _don't_ order Klystra not to tell Lord Urthblood you're still at Salamandastron, and that Poinsett escorts Tratton in your stead, then it will come out. He'll know."

"Yes. He'll know."

"And how do you suppose he will receive that news? What do you imagine his response to you will be?"

"We'll find out when he writes back, won't we?" Matowick bit off curtly, then bent back to formulating precisely what he would write to his badger master.


	39. Chapter XXXVIII

**XXXVIII.**

 **FOXGUARD**

Tibball returned to Foxguard unsure just how much he'd succeeded in advancing the swordfoxes' cause amongst the local woodlander population, and equally unsure as to just why the Gawtrybe shadowed him so closely during the second half of his diplomatic rounds. The opening leg of his tour-as-envoy had unfolded blessedly free of the intimidating Northland squirrels, most of them forging ahead to Gawdrey and the rest fading onto the woods for their rat-persecuting duties. But then they'd shown up again, not just as some happenstance encounter of the sort Tibball had hoped to avoid or, at the very least, keep to a bare minimum, but as a constant presence, always making themselves known through either direct contact - sometimes going so far as to join him, Roxroy and Stillafax in their dealing with the resident woodlanders - or at other times just sticking fairly unobtrusively to the treetops above. What might have changed to earn the rabbit Ambassador this undue and undesired heightened scrutiny he could not imagine (and the Gawtrybe would not say), but something certainly had.

Perhaps the answer was to be found at Foxguard. Unfortunately, Tibball dreaded what else might be found there these days.

Both the rabbit and his two young swordfox companions were heartened to see the black-clad figures standing afternoon lookout on the low ramparts under the early summer sun, with just a few of the tufted-eared archerbeasts sprinkled amongst them, and no sign of the less-civilized Northland vulpines anywhere. This relief proved short-lived, for after they were hailed in greeting from the south walltop and came around to enter Foxguard by its sole western egress, they beheld upon the fortress grounds the nearly twoscore foxes they'd hoped not to find here, proving that Jaffox and his brigade had indeed returned from their horde-taming mission, and with seemingly few if any losses.

If the three returning beasts had chanced to come back by way of the northern approaches, they'd have gotten an eyeful of just how successful Jaffox's efforts had been.

Tolar, alerted to the arrival of his ambassadorial trio, strode over to meet them. "Ah, good Tibball! Rox, Still." The junior swordfoxes snapped off smart salutes to their chieftain. "So, how fared you in your rounds?"

"It's … rather hard to say, Sword," the rabbit replied. "Many seemed receptive to my overtures, although a great many others were not, but even as to those who paid us the courtesy of an audience, I honestly cannot say how many were merely putting up the pretense of being courteous, and how many might now genuinely see Foxguard as a potential friend and ally."

"So, mixed results, much as we anticipated. Did you start with the otter holts as planned, and were they willing to assist you at all?"

"I did, and, they weren't. They didn't exactly spurn us out of paw, but they seemed far from thrilled about us coming upon them as we did. They may engage in trade with you on occasion for fish and hard goods, but apparently they still feel you foxes should be kept in your place - which is walled up in here, not out wandering Mossflower where you'll be brushing tails and shoulders with woodland folk. I might not go so far as to say they disapprove of this venture, but they were hardly supportive of it either."

"Hmm. Do you deem having Roxroy and Stillafax with you may have hurt your chances with them?"

"Again, hard to say, sir. I suspect those waterdogs might've been reluctant even had I been alone, or accompanied by Gawtrybe instead. In this case I'd hazard a guess it was the message and not the messenger."

"Ah. And what about elsewhere? Do you believe your fox companions proved a boon or a bane to you?"

"Well, anybeast too intimidated to even consider meeting with foxes wouldn't have been receptive to my tidings anyway, would they? As for the rest, I'd say my choice of escorts hurt no more than it helped. Roxroy and Stillafax did raise my credibility in claiming I spoke on behalf of Foxguard, and I trust that some we met with appreciated the opportunity to speak directly with two of the foxes in question, and hear some of what we had to say from their own mouths. And if any two of your foxes were to accompany me, these were the ideal choices. Their youth and earnestness put some skeptical woodlanders at ease, and their genuine manner helped their words be heard. In that sense, I suppose this tour went as well as could be expected, Sword. At least we're getting the word out there, and hopefully that's something we can build upon, this season or next."

"Yes, that is my hope. In the meantime, until you embark upon your next diplomatic excursion, you can maintain your office here, to meet with any woodlanders who opt to seek you out at Foxguard."

"I … don't know if we can expect to see any of them visiting us anytime soon, Sword. I don't think we won any of them over _that_ much. And to be honest, with certain, ah, elements calling Foxguard home nowadays … " Tibball's gaze wandered across the grounds to where Jaffox's crew loitered and lounged. "Would you really want impressionable woodlanders coming here, now?"

"Fair point," Tolar conceded with a sigh. "And Jaffox's squad isn't the least of it. If you'd come around from the north on your return, you'd have had to wade through all our other unsavory new allies."

"Oh?" asked Roxroy. "We thought we saw and smelled cookfire smoke when we came out of the woods just now, but didn't know what to make of it. I see it's not coming from anywhere within Foxguard."

"It's not. Jaffox succeeded in bringing in that valley horde - the entire horde. They're camped outside our walls in the northern clearing, awaiting their next action - which Jaffox doesn't seem in any hurry to order. Maybe he's waiting for Custis to provide details on where he's to deploy next to assist with the Purge, but for now we're stuck with him. I'd have thought he'd want to be away from here as soon as he could, after what happened during our one and only drilling session with his foxes."

"You drilled with his foxes?" Roxroy asked, as intrigued as Stillafax beside him. "How did _that_ turn out?"

"We're the swordfoxes of Foxguard; how do you imagine it turned out? We put them in their place, matching our juniors to their veterans, and coming out on top or fighting them to a draw every time. Then I sent Belsis up against Jaffox himself, and that brute wasn't expecting the old paw-switch deep into the duel. Jaffox fought savagely, wearing himself down, and in the end Belsis disarmed him in most dramatic fashion in front of all his foxes and the valley horde leaders as well."

"Good for Belsis!" Stillafax declared.

"Not so good for him, actually. Jaffox, sore loser that you'd imagine him to be, showed his true colors by body-slamming poor Belsis flat on his back onto the parade grounds. That tod's on light duty now, until he fully recovers from his cracked ribs. He's lucky Jaffox didn't break his back."

"And that fox … is still here, you say?" Tibball glanced around nervously.

"What did you do to Jaffox after that?" Roxroy inquired.

"Told him that if he ever mistreated one of my brigade like that again, I'd replace him with Sappakit as my second-in-command and expel him from Foxguard, and to blazes with Lord Urthblood's orders."

"You should, sir," Roxroy urged. "You should do that anyway, and not wait. Jaffox has shown he can't conduct himself as a civilized soldierbeast. Don't wait for something even worse to happen."

"Tempted as I am to do just that, Rox, there are still Lord Urthblood's orders to consider. Jaffox hasn't shown any enthusiasm for a rematch and the risk of further humiliation, and I've not pressed him to join us in our drilling again; now that we've all seen how that would likely end, and now that I've made my point and put him in his place, we don't need a repeat of that incident. As for something worse happening, I don't see it. I've demonstrated our superiority as fighters and weakened his standing with both his own foxes and the hordebeasts he brought here, including the vixens. He's kept a low profile ever since, with no sign of causing further trouble, even if he hasn't exactly been cooperative."

"Wait - did you say vixens?" Roxroy repeated.

Tolar nodded. "He brought all the valley horde's vixens back with him too, no doubt as a way to compete in influence with my own brigade. Maybe he learned that Sappakit and a few of the other veterans have been after me for some time to allow them, but it's a done deal now; once those females were here and offering themselves, several of the First Twenty pressed me to relent on my prohibition against taking mates, and I found such a continued position untenable to defend. So, some of our brigade now have mates."

"Well, that's … something," Stillafax stammered, sharing Roxroy's surprise. "And about the last thing we expected to return home to when we left with Ambassador Tibball."

"Can they be trusted, Sword?" Roxroy asked. "After all, if Jaffox brought them in … "

"I'm not trusting anything that fox touches. That's why I'm only allowing senior brigaders to take bedmates; they're worldly enough to sense treachery before it ensnares them, and cautious enough to know what to watch for - not to mention assured and commanding enough to let their vixens know they're playing a dangerous game with their own lives if they think to harm Foxguard in any way. And with Jaffox having been so publicly belittled, I sense they'll think twice before choosing alliance to him over us. Except perhaps for that seer vixen he's taken for his own, and her two sisters; them I'm keeping a _very_ close eye on, since they seem cut almost from the same cloth as Jaffox himself."

"Things have certainly … changed around here then," Stillafax observed. "It will take some … getting used to."

Tolar gave a sly smirk at the two junior foxes. "Don't expect it to change things around here too much as far as _you're_ concerned. Mates are only for ranking brigade veterans - and Jaffox's own ruffians - so it won't affect your drilling and watch obligations at all, I'm afraid!"

"I still harbor some concerns on how all this might affect _me_ ," Tibball interjected. "Would, um, any of you care to accompany me up to my offices? With my luck, I'll run smack into Jaffox between here and there … although even if I don't, the rest of his gang's just as unsettling, and they're all out and about right now."

"Not to worry," Tolar assured the rabbit. "I'm sure Rox and Still are eager to be off their footpaws, so I'll not deny them that reward for their wide-ranging duties out in Mossflower! They're excused from duty for the rest of the day, and can escort you up on their way to their own quarters."

"We'll get him up to his offices and safely ensconced there," Roxroy affirmed, "where Jaffox will be less likely to trouble him."

"We can only hope," Tibball added meekly.

"Very good. Oh, and Ambassador, when you get up there, you'll find a surprise awaiting you - a pleasant one, for a change. The first Sparra to visit us from Redwall after you left delivered your uniform, and it looks splendid. Pity they just missed you, bringing it shortly after your departure, but that's the way it goes sometimes."

"Ah, well, I'd not have wanted to wear it out in the wilds anyway, but yes, this is fine news indeed! I think I shall try it on at once!"

"I hope you will be able to dine with us this evening while wearing it, at which time you can tell me of your journeys in greater detail, and we can decide based on that how to best proceed with your efforts on future forays."

"I'll look forward to that, Sword. Will Madam Mona be joining us?"

"I will make sure she does, even if I have to tear her away from her work, which seems to consume her days of late."

"Was the Sparra who delivered Ambassador Tibball's uniform the last to visit Foxguard?" Roxroy asked of Tolar. "I mean, have there been any more since …. "

"Since Jaffox got back?" The Sword gave a subdued nod. "Yes, one. Who happened to arrive in just time to see the drill I forced upon Jaffox. Saw the whole thing."

"And he departed without incident afterward?"

"I would have made sure of it, had anybeast thought to stop him."

"So … Redwall knows about Jaffox now."

"Yes, they do. Fortunately, they also know that even our junior brigaders can best him. Perhaps that will serve to allay any misgivings they have about such a beast being in Mossflower."

"On the other paw, he can't have been overjoyed about having an Abbey observer present to witness his moment of ignominy. That could prove an indignity he'll not soon forget."

"Which is why we're all staying on our toes, with eyes open and ears sharp. If Jaffox has any trouble in mind, we'll deal with it here so the rest of Mossflower doesn't have to. But hopefully Custis will call him away sooner rather than later, and then we'll be rid of him again, at least for a while."

"Yes, let's hope," Tibball said, not sounding at all assured by any of this. "So, uh, shall we be heading inside then?"

As Stillafax and Tibball started for the fortress, Roxroy tarried behind with Tolar. "Sword, there's one other thing I didn't mention of our travels: the Gawtrybe."

"Oh? What of them?"

"Well, they fairly well left us alone at the start of our journeying, but then they became much more … prevalent? I'm not sure how to put it, but they wouldn't leave us alone, either monitoring our progress from the trees without engaging us or else coming right out to join us in our meetings with the locals, whether we wanted them there or not. It's like something happened halfway through our expedition to change how they viewed us, and I couldn't for the life of me think of anything _we_ could have done to cause that. Do you think it could in any way be in response to what happened between you and Jaffox at the drill?"

"I don't see how. That only happened the day before yesterday, and I don't think he's had much opportunity to send out word about it, nor do I imagine he'd be very keen to do so. Although, it can't be denied that the Gawtrybe do tend to come and go as they please, and might well have slipped off a messenger without my knowledge. But I can think of a much more plausible reason for all of this."

"Oh?"

"Just how far from Foxguard did you range? You were gone for quite a few days."

"Fairly far, Sword, following a roughly circular route down into the woods south and then back again."

"Well there you have it. You must have unwittingly almost stumbled upon Gawdrey during your travels, perhaps too close for their comfort. I'll wager you encountered not a single rat along the way?"

"No, not that I can recall, sir."

"Of course you didn't. The Gawtrybe naturally would have cleared out all the woods immediately surrounding their hidden stronghold; that's probably where our last couple of batches that we sent off to the coast came from. That's got to be it."

Roxroy mulled this over. "It … could be, sir."

Tolar picked up on his underling's dubious tone. "But you don't think it is?"

"If that's all it was, why wouldn't they leave us alone once we had turned our pawsteps back toward Foxguard? It's almost like their vigilance of us increased as we would have withdrawn farther from Gawdrey, or anything else they wouldn't want us to see."

Tolar considered this. "Well, Custis has always had his trust issues where I'm concerned. On the other paw, he knew full well the endeavor for which I'd engaged Tibball, and what I meant to achieve along those lines, so it's not like it's something he wasn't already aware of. Too bad none of your shadows accompanied you all the way back into Foxguard, so we could have just asked them." The Sword gave a shrug. "I'll ask Custis about it when next we meet, and if nothing has come of it before then, it likely won't be that important."

00000000000

It wasn't easy working around Tolar and under the Sword's nose, but Mona had a way of getting what she wanted, and when it came to Kyslith's work area, the vixen was not to be denied.

The interior deadbolt - an insistence more of Kyslith's than Mona's - now stood as an accomplished fact, installed by Foxguard's weasel laborers under Mona's direction, without consultation with or notification of Tolar, Haddican or any other fox of the brigade. Tolar had noticed the new lock during one of his subsequent visits to the chamber, giving a sniff of disdain as he looked at Mona askance, but made no further mention of the matter. Perhaps he still intended to have it removed on his own orders in a similarly stealthy manner, but so far had not acted to do so. He also harped on the continued presence of the empty vitriol tub, if not so insistently now as previously, but again had made no move on his own end to have it taken out. Perhaps he realized the futility of going up against his vixen when she so firmly wanted to have her own way in such things, or perhaps he was simply too busy and preoccupied with other matters. It never occurred to Mona that her mate might simply have chosen to wash his paws of her where this matter was concerned, the female fox preferring to think her Sword had decided to place faith in her judgment as he should have all along.

And then there was the beeswax. This had proven the hardest facet of the operation to keep from Tolar, since it necessitated dealing with creatures from outside the fortress. As it turned out, Mona and Kyslith found an ally for this endeavor in the least likely of places: the Gawtrybe. She found she could confide fairly openly in the very Northland squirrels Tolar viewed with such disfavor as cluttering interlopers forced upon him, and that the swordfox brigade's tension with the arboreal acherbeasts failed to translate into strained relations between vixen and squirrel. To them Mona could speak freely about how she wished to proceed without Tolar's knowledge or interference, and with them should could conspire to secure the materials she needed. By finessing the situation and playing on their sense of forest superiority, she won their cooperation, first in scouting through nearer Mossflower to locate a chandler willing to part with a sufficiently large supply of his candle-making wax, and then in completing the trade and bearing the wax back into Foxguard in small batches at a time and directly into her paws, all without the Sword becoming aware of these activities, which he most likely would have moved to stop had he known.

Kyslith, having inspected and approved the newly-procured beeswax, set right to work melting and applying it to the freshly-scraped interior of the vitriol tub, an exacting and painstaking process which had taken the glassmaker fox two days to complete, working on his own without an assistant - two days during which he made sure to keep the deadbolt in place, now that Jaffox had returned. Done at last and inspected to his satisfaction as to the coating's unbroken smoothness and completeness, it was now time to move on to the next phase of the production process.

Urthblood had designed his swordfox fortress with a number of features to make it self-contained and siege-resistant. In addition to a respectable garden area within the circular perimeter walls, an underground spring fed directly into Foxguard's cellars, providing a source of clean water without the need to venture forth into Mossflower to secure that vital resource, or to depend on the uncertainties of rain and the weather. It was this basement spring Mona and Kyslith tapped now, again away from the prying eyes of Tolar - but not, as it would turn out this day, from every pair of prying eyes at Foxguard.

Mona tottered down the curving corridor to Kyslith's central workshop, one sloshing bucket of water in each paw. In the dim lighting of the cellar passages and burdened as she was, she failed to see Jaffox standing and barring her way until she'd almost run into him. Looking up, she managed to keep the snarl off her face - if only just barely - but her controlled expression nevertheless radiated a distinct lack of pleasure in encountering the big fox down here.

"You're in my way," she huff-snapped.

Jaffox ignored her bad-tempered impatience as he leaned with one paw against the wall and the other on his hip, legs crossed in casual command of the situation. "Well well well … an' just what is Foxguard's esteemed healer vixen doin' luggin' about heavy pails, when we got willin' weasels fer such menial drudgery?"

"This is for Kyslith's glassmaking shop. I'm helping him."

"Ah. Which still begs the question o' why a pretty an' important creature such as yerself is servin' as water-bearer to a lowly apprentice craftsbeast."

"Kyslith is no longer an apprentice, and he was never lowly. He's moved out from under Trelayne, and he's his own master now. And since he and I share work areas down here, and since I am currently unoccupied with any patients of my own, I was only too willing to assist him with his efforts in establishing his workshop."

"Funny, I thought it was already established, when that marten an' fox crafted that huge statue of Machus. What'd they do, tear it all apart so they'd hafta put it back t'gether agin?"

"Trelayne did largely dismantle it, yes, thinking there would be no more work along these lines performed here." Mona had by this time set down both buckets to spare her arm muscles, seeing that Jaffox was making no move to step aside for her. "Kyslith didn't tell him until we were at Redwall that he intended to return to Foxguard to become our resident glassmaker here … as you already know, if you've asked around at all."

"That I have, missy - which is how I know that you never lifted a pinky-paw to help any of the weasels who were down 'ere poundin' out their Realms. Just yer fox friend."

"There was hardly any way I could have meaningfully contributed to the weasels' work - bad enough that I had to put up with their racket for all that time. Kyslith is one beast plying his craft alone - a more delicate and refined craft than the brutish, repetitive task of producing the Realms."

"Heh. Are y' sure that's all he's plyin' down 'ere? An' he ain't exactly alone with you around, is 'ee?"

Mona scowled, treading perilously close to the snarl she strove to avoid, and took up her full pails again. "You're still in my way. Move."

To her surprise, he complied - and to her dismay, he fell into step behind her, tailing her back to Kyslith's chamber. "What does a glassmaker need with so much water anyway? He can't be workin' up that much of a thirst."

"The processes of his craft are complex and varied, encompassing many techniques and requiring a wide array of tools and materials. I'd hardly expect you to understand."

"Ouch. My brain feels insulted. But mebbe I understand more'n you appreciate."

They arrived at the door to Kyslith's workshop - a door currently unlocked and ajar in anticipation of Mona's burdened return. The craftsfox looked up in surprised alarm at Jaffox's presence, while the hulking Northlander regarded his fellow male fox with bemusement; Kyslith wore a heavy smock, equally heavy gloves and goggles, the entire ensemble lending him a preposterous appearance. On the counter before him sat several of the rocks from the quarry, along with an assortment of fine hammers, chisels, picks, mortars and pestles. Jaffox smirked. "So that's th' clickin' an' clatterin' I heard. Thought our weasels might've picked back up with their Realm-makin', but shoulda known t'wasn't muscular 'nuff to be them."

Kyslith looked to Mona as she set her buckets down just inside the door. "What's he doing here?"

"Turned up like a bad acorn, just as he has a habit of doing."

"Hey now," Jaffox admonished with malicious levity. "That's no way to talk about Foxguard's new second-in-command." He glanced about the chamber. "So, this's what it looks like in here. Been down this way a few times, but door's always locked. Can't have that, so I'll be needin' a key."

Mona glared at him. "No."

"Sorry, what was that? Coulda swore you just said no."

"Our work down here is very exacting, and we can't have any interruptions."

"'Our work?' Are you a glassblower now too? Or is it sumpthin' else ye're blowin' when the door's locked down here?"

"I will not dignify that with a response. And you're not getting a key."

"Yes I am, missy. Second-in-command, 'member? Which means you gotta do what I say, an' follow my orders."

"Actually, I don't. I'm not military. I serve outside the command structure. And if you truly imagine for one moment that you wield more authority at Foxguard than I do, then go speak with Tolar about it. But be prepared for a good laugh - at your own expense."

Jaffox leaned over her, fangs exposed and glistening in the lamplight. "I can make things very hard for you, if you force me to."

"Go soak your head, Jaffox. Preferably in something other than water."

The big fox failed to notice how Kyslith shuddered at this seemingly routine insult. Straightening, Jaffox took one last look around the workshop, gaze taking in the enormous wax-coated tub before finally coming to rest upon the rocks upon Kyslith's work table. "Still not sure what y' need those for - or this vat either, since you'll not be needin' it no more. Just don't look t' me fer help in removin' it."

"We'll keep that in mind."

"See you around Foxguard then." Jaffox turned to leave. "But I _will_ expect this door to be open to me the next time I come knockin' - an' ev'ry time after that, too."

"Only if you bring a battering ram."

"Don't tempt me," Jaffox said with a sneer, and was gone.

At the bottom of the cellar stairs he found Joska waiting for him. "Where were you?" the former seer demanded. "I was looking all over for you!"

"Just havin' a peek in on th' true top vix here at Foxguard," Jaffox returned with a touch of droll denigration. "What's got yer brush in such a fluff?"

"Th' rabbit's back! You know, the one Tolar sent out to play Ambassador?"

"Course I know - I'm th' one who told _you_ about 'im, 'member? 'portant question is, did 'ee bring 'is two handsome young swordfoxes back with 'im?"

"Aye, that he did."

"Good, good." Jaffox gave a conspiratorial grin. "Then I'd say it's time fer yer sisters Iskra and Imara t' get t' work on workin' their wiles on some foxes too young 'n' tender t' realize what they're gettin' into!"


	40. Chapter XXXIX

**XXXIX.**

 **FOXGUARD**

Tibball, safely delivered to his offices before Jaffox and Joska emerged from the cellars, managed to dodge the foxes he least wished to encounter at the fortress he now called home. Tolar was not so lucky in avoiding the attention of the brutish Northlander, and at a moment he most ideally would have preferred to do so.

Jaffox halted on the lawn just outside the fortress building door, an incongruous motion in the afternoon summer sky overhead drawing his notice. Glancing up, he studied the oversized winged form spiralling down for a landing atop the south battlements.

"Hmm. Odd. That's Commodore Altidor, not Klystra, Now why would Lord Urthblood have that golden eagle comin' here 'stead of one of his less important birds? Sumpthin's up."

"Then let's go see what it's all about," Joska said, starting forward, but Jaffox held her in place with an upraised arm.

"Not you, m'dear. Could be an official report - in fact, most likely is - an' that bird'll not be as free with his beak if ye're there."

Joska scoffed. "An' he will with _you_?"

"Course 'ee will. I'm second-in-command here, 'member? By Lord Urthblood's direct orders. That puts me right near th' top of Foxguard's military hierarchy. Could even be this message now's for me an' not our illustrious Sword. But in case it's not, an' Tolar's got ideas on shuttin' me out, I'd better get over there fast 'fore that bird starts squawkin'. See y' later, vix."

The big fox bustled across the grounds, managing to arrive at the walltop mere moments after Tolar. Altidor perched upon the battlements, clearly still making his opening salutations; now Sword and eagle regarded Jaffox as if uncertain to proceed in his presence. The burly Northlander flashed a smile. "What'd I miss?"

"Reports from Salamandastron, and the Plains," Tolar informed Jaffox in a grudging monotone. "You're just in time. Please go on, Commodore."

"You are aware Tratton visits Mossflower?" the eagle asked.

"Yes, it was relayed to us by signal mirror - although it's nice to have confirmation. We've followed his party's progress across the Plains from our lookout tower, off and on. Last we saw, he was nearly at Mossflower proper."

Altidor nodded. "They have entered the forest, and should reach us in several more days."

"Does he truly plan to visit Foxguard - or Redwall?"

"He has been guarded in his precise intentions. If he does appear at Foxguard's gate, he is to be received as a welcome guest and afforded your full hospitality. As for the Redwallers, how they receive the King of the Searats is entirely up to them."

"That vermin, comin' here," Jaffox growled. "He'd better be guarded in more'n his intentions if 'ee thinks t' mingle with us!"

Altidor stared down his beak at the imposing fox, somewhat less imposing now that he stood alongside the majestic eagle. "He is not to be harassed, and no violence is to be provoked from our quarter. Is that clear, Commander?"

"Crystal," Jaffox bit off.

"I thought you might welcome this news," Tolar teased his fellow fox. "Tratton strikes me as just your type of beast, the sort you might get along with swimmingly."

"We're at war with rats, 'member? An' those seascum 're the worst o' th' bunch, bane o' ev'ry land creature from th' frozen north t' Southsward!"

"Those 'seascum' now have Lord Urthblood's leave to visit this region," Altidor asserted. "Do not forget this. He and his rats are to be accorded the same courtesy as the squirrels who accompany them."

"Hear that, Sword?" Jaffox taunted. "Ya gotta be nice t' Gawtrybe!"

"I can be courteous to the Gawtrybe," Tolar grumbled back. "For most of a season now, I haven't really had any choice." He turned to Altidor. "But you still haven't explained why you're the one delivering this message rather than Klystra. Did Lord Urthblood deem that his seniormost avian officer ought to escort Tratton?"

"Actually, no. Captain Klystra was assigned that duty. There has, however, been an … incident."

"An incident?" Tolar could see Jaffox was just as intrigued, their rivalry momentarily forgotten.

"You were appraised of the fact that Tratton travels under an assumed identity, in disguise as a mere captain of his forces?"

"I … was not, actually. That might be useful to know. By what alias does he travel?"

"Redclaw. Dressed all in red, with red-dyed claws and tail."

"Oh, that's gotta be a sight!" Jaffox chuckled. "He'da made a good pair with that false seer I picked up from th' valley, her face all painted in soot!"

Tolar shot the bigger fox a superior glance. "You mean, your mate?"

Jaffox scoffed at this. "An arrangement o' convenience, naught more."

"Ahrmph!" Altidor clear his throat to bring the two vulpines back to the topic at wing. "Now, were you also aware that Trelayne recently departed Redwall to return to Salamandastron?"

"Only just recently?" Tolar said in surprise. "I'd have thought he'd have left long before that."

"It might have been better if he had. He and his two Gawtrybe escorts encountered Tratton's party out in the Plains, not far out of the woods, and that marten realized what rat he faced, even through Tratton's disguise. Driven by his hatred of searatkind, he tried to assassinate Tratton."

The two foxes, and others around them on the walltop listening in, stood stunned by this revelation. "And what happened?" Tolar prompted.

"Tratton slew Trelayne in self-defense, as was perhaps inevitable."

Tolar rocked back on his heels, even though he'd expected this answer as soon as he asked the question. The marten who had been his guest for much of the previous season, and who had gifted Foxguard with a magnificent glass tribute to Machus … Trelayne, the studious and considered artisan who got along with everybeast, and didn't have an enemy in the world … except for searats. And now he was gone.

"Was Tratton hurt himself?" the Sword inquired.

"Not that I am aware of."

"Course not," Jaffox muttered. "That seatyrant'd never let a mere glassmaker put a scratch on 'im."

"Anybeast else injured?"

"Reports indicate not, Sword, Klystra was there to see it, and he spoke of Trelayne as the only casualty. Two Gawtrybe from Sergeant Poinsett's squad detached from escort duty to help bear Trelayne back to Salamandastron. For burial, or … whatever."

"Where is Klystra now?"

"Captain Matowick felt Lord Urthblood ought to hear of this affair from one who witnessed it, so Klystra has flown down to Southsward to seek His Lordship out there and report to him directly."

Both Tolar and Jaffox's eyes widened in the widest surprise of that afternoon so far. "Wait, what?"

"What, what?" the eagle asked.

"You just said Southsward. Lord Urthblood is in Southsward?"

"You were not informed of this, Sword?"

"Clearly, I was not. What compelled him to embark on such a journey, and now of all times?"

"He sensed that Tratton meant to move on Southsward himself, perhaps forge an alliance with the Squirrel King there which would exclude us from having any influence in that region, so he sailed down there to intercede."

"How long ago did he leave?"

"Quite a few days. He has already reached Southsward and set off inland without incident, and may even have reached Castle Floret by now."

"What manner of force did he take with him?"

"A score of Gawtrybe, and Captain Abellon's mouse brigade, for the landbound part of his journey. He also had a sea otter crew assisting him during the voyage, but they remained with their ship on the coast."

"I am … very surprised His Lordship saw fit to appraise us of none of this."

"I feel he was keeping it to himself as much as he could," the eagle said, "for reasons of security. Tratton himself was not even aware of Lord Urthblood's departure until he arrived at Salamandastron to ask permission for his Mossflower trek."

"Wait - Tratton passed through Salamandastron on his way to Mossflower? And that rat knows Lord Urthblood isn't there now?"

"Correct."

"And Lord Urthblood still granted him leave to visit Mosfflower? How did those negotiations even take place?"

"Captain Matowick handled the face-to-face discussions, and His Lordship was consulted by gull messenger. It was all … fairly complicated."

"Yes, I imagine." Tolar ran a pawtip across his pursed lips in thought. "How many Gawtrybe accompany Tratton now?"

"A score and a half … less the two who now bear Trelayne back to the coast."

"A score and a half … and another score travelled south with Lord Urthblood, you said. That leaves … only fifty Gawtrybe guarding the mountain? Doesn't His Lordship consider that … well, inadequate?"

"There are also Mattoon's and Tillamook's squads. But I trust Lord Urthblood counts on his battle gulls to serve as sufficient deterrent and, in the event of renewed hostilities, a potent enough fighting force to defend the mountain. Remember, Tratton holds no hope of capturing Salamandastron as long as he can land no great number of troops … and we can always fire his ships faster than his rats can escape the flames. He foresees no problem in this area, and neither do I … as long as our aerial armory remains adequately stocked. Which brings me to another matter. We may need to recall Kyslith to Salamandastron."

"Kyslith?" Tolar nodded slowly. "Yes, that makes sense. With Trelayne slain, Lord Urthblood would naturally want Kyslith at the mountain to take his place."

"What a shame," Jaffox falsely lamented. "You'll be without your pet glassfox … an' so will Mona. Whatever will th' two of you do?"

"We got along fine without a glassmaker before," Tolar shot back. "We'll get along just as fine after he leaves - if that's to be his new assignment."

"That still has yet to be decided," Altidor told them. "Lord Urthblood has been appraised of all aspects of the situation, and we await his reply. We simply thought you should be aware of this possibility, in case there was any glasswork you needed done before his recall."

"How long'll Lord Urthblood be away from Salamandastron?" Jaffox asked.

"Difficult to say. He has negotiations to complete with Floret, perhaps in competition with the searats. It may take most of this season."

Jaffox seemed oddly satisfied by this answer.

"What about Custis, and Gawdrey?" Tolar inquired of Altidor. "Did they know of Lord Urthblood's intentions to travel to Southsward?"

"Most likely not, since you didn't yourselves. It seems it was felt that this journey and these negotiations would have no direct bearing on Mossflower, and for the sake of security, none of you were to be informed. Now that Tratton knows of Lord Urthblood's absence from Salamandastron, however, there is little gain in keeping his present location a secret."

"I see. So, what are we to do now, Commodore?"

"Only what you would have done anyway. Carry on with the resettlement campaign, assist Captain Custis as he sees fit, and receive Tratton with courtesy and esteem if he deigns to visit Foxguard. Klystra or myself will return here to let you know whether Kyslith is definitely to be recalled, or you will be notified of such by signal mirror. We will keep you appraised of any developments with the Southsward negotiations that Lord Urthblood deems worth communicating. I must fly to Gawdrey now, to inform Captain Custis of Trelayne as well. He may wish to send out an advance party to meet Tratton and Sergeant Poinsett, if his forces are not overly occupied elsewhere; that I will leave to his discretion. Farewell now, Sword. Commander." With nods of his great feathered head to Tolar and Jaffox, Altidor spread his mighty wings and pushed off from the battlements, rising into the long afternoon and flapping south.

Jaffox turned a long gaze on Tolar as the Sword contemplated this turn of events. "Well, this rather changes things, don't it?"

Tolar glanced at the gloating nuisance. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if Kyslith gets sent back to Salamandastron, you'll not have any glassmaker - which also means you'll have no need o' his workshop neither, takin' up all that space downstairs. We could turn that inta more holdin' cells, or mebbe my own command center so I don't hafta keep usin' yers, or even just more gen'ral quarters, t' get some o' my foxes in off th' lawns. Oh, an' it should also free up our precious Mona t' return to what she's s'posed to be doin' - healin' the sick, tendin' the wounded, favorin' her Sword … "

"Don't go there, Jaffox."

"Aw, you know she's been spendin' way too much time with that tiny tinkerer. Saw th' two of 'em down there jus' now, in fact, her servin' as his water bearer of all things. Not sure which one's got the other workin' fer 'em, but looks like ye'll soon have yer lovely healer back all to yerself again."

"It hasn't been definitely decided that Kyslith is going to be reassigned."

"Think it's a fair bet he will be. All Lord Urthblood's got at th' mountain t' meet his glassmakin' needs now's that half-mouse stumblin' 'round on wood legs, an' that'll never do. He was countin' on Trelayne returnin' t' bring his glass shops back up t' full output, an' now that that marten's dead, it'll hafta be our fox friend in 'is stead. An' admit it, Sword - ye'll be happy to be rid o' him."

Tolar assessed Jaffox with an unforgiving glare. "Not the only fox I'd like to be rid of."

Jaffox's smarmy smile disappeared. "That a threat, Sword?"

"Not at all. You heard the Commodore: we're to carry on with the Purge as normal, which means shouldn't you and your squad be leaving soon on another sweep to help Custis clean out Mossflower south of here? Already overdue for that, seems to me."

"Naw, I'm sure those flickertails 've got most o' that territory cleared on their own, an' 've got things well in paw. Best I stay 'ere, t' oversee transfer o' captives to their rafts fer transfer to th' coast. Just 'cos our cells're empty now don't mean th' next big batch o' pris'ners couldn't hit us at any moment. Gotta be ready fer that, since you seem t' view such responserbilities as beneath you." Jaffox turned to go. "I'll let you get back t' runnin' yer uniform parade show now while I get back to some real work."

"You were not dismissed."

Jaffox, teetering on the verge of outright ignoring the senior fox's sharp tone, brought himself to a stop, turned and paced back to Tolar, stopping not a properly respectful distance but stepping right up to him toe-to-toe, their chests nearly touching as a mere paw's-breadth separated them. At that proximity, Jaffox stared straight down to meet Tolar's gaze. "Yes, Sword?"

Tolar bit down on his bile. "Dismissed."

Jaffox flashed a victorious smirk. "Thought so." Saying no more, he turned once again, and this time no barbed reprimands followed after him as he sought out the wallstairs and descended onto the grounds once more.

The big fox wasted no time in seeking out Joska and returning to the cellars with her so they could speak freely without fear of being overheard. Passing Kyslith's glassmaking shop, they found the door closed and presumably locked. Jaffox spared a moment to softly press his ear against the wood and then, satisfied that he could make out the muted voices of both vixen and dogfox from within, gave Joska an affirming nod and gestured her farther along the corridor.

Ultimately they reached Mona's surgery, pausing half-in and half-out of the doorway so they could see anybeast approaching from either direction along the curve of the hallway. Nevertheless, they kept their voices to a conspiratorial hush.

"They're both in th' central chamber," Jaffox began, "so we'll not be bothered here. That vix is too busy with 'er glass friend - one way or the other - an' nobeast else'll come down here who doesn't hafta."

Joska glanced in at Mona's workspace and shuddered; even by her own standards, even after all the violence and torture she'd witnessed under Krayne, this place unnerved her. Horde atrocities were one thing, but what the healer vixen engaged in here was simply … unnatural.

Noting her discomfiture, Jaffox teased, "What's wrong, m'dear? Wouldn't you love a clinic jus' like this of yer own t' practice yer healin' craft?"

"Not in a thousand seasons. Small wonder beasts give this place a wide berth whenever they can. Smells like death an' then some, an' what's on display's enuff to make me wanna close my eyes forever … 'cept then I might be haunted by it in my dreams. If this space ever becomes mine, first thing I'll do is clear it out, bury every unsettlin' beast bit she's got here deep outside the walls, an' have this entire place scrubbed top to bottom with scaldin' water an' lotsa soap. Lots 'n' lotsa soap."

"Well, that chance may be comin' sooner'n we thought. That big bird just brought some very int'restin' news that affects our plans. Turns out Lord Urthblood left Salamandastron an' went runnin' down t' Southsward to open negotiations with the Squirrel King there, without botherin' t' let any of us here in Mossflower know. Could be he'll be tied up with that all season, too busy to t' spare thought ner paw t' what goes on here - which frees my own paw consid'rably. Means we can proceed as we been discussin', an' not hafta wait or worry 'bout th' right time, 'cos it's found us now. Almost tempted t' strike down th' top dog right away, but we'll stick with the original scheme. Were you able t' whip up that potion you claimed you could make?"

"That I did." Joska reached into the folds of her skirt and withdrew a tiny vial. "Pour this inta any poor fool's drink, an' he'll be smitten outta his mind. More'n just a love potion or mood-raiser, it'll have him following his vix an' doing whatever she tells him. For a little while, until it wears off, but should be plenty long enough for our purposes. Doubt pretty little Mona ever concocted anything like it, since those swordsbeasts were all so chaste 'n' pure 'fore we came along, so it'll hit him like nothing he's expecting. Hadta make it up outside, in the camp, since it's the only place Tolar hasn't got me under constant watch."

"Did anybeast see ya whippin' it up?"

"A few … but my vixens won't say a word, an' Bryn's lunkheads are loyal to you, not Tolar. They won't talk."

"They better not, if you wanna keep yer head attached to yer shoulders much as I do."

Joska shrugged this off. "Even if it does come out, what've we done wrong that could be pinned on us? All I did was cook up and deliver a love tonic requested by my old friend Vermilya, who wanted to satisfy the passions of her new favored sworddog, make sure she didn't disappoint on their first night together. If something were to go … horribly wrong once she administers it, well, that's hardly on us, is it? An' certainly not on you."

Jaffox snorted. "That all depends on how well yer sister Imara does her work. You sure she can make it so Vermilya won't remember anything?"

"Should be the easiest bit of mindplay she's ever pulled off. Vermilya genuinely wants this tryst to work, so all we're doin' is making her want a little bit more on top of that." Joska slipped her elixir back into her pocket. "Why're we even still bothering with this anyway? From what you just said, we've now got an opening to move boldly. Why not just aim right for the top, an' install yourself as Sword?"

"Cuz not doin' it this way could cause us even more trouble than Tolar could. We could find th' rest o' the First Twenty rallyin' against us, an' mebbe the rest o' the brigade too. Tolar's already threatened more'n once to replace me, in violation o' Lord Urthblood's direct orders, an' I s'pect he'd do it too - which I can use as ammunition as t' why Foxguard needed a change in leadership. Like I keep tellin' ya, we gotta keep th' Gawtrybe on our side, an' that means goin' carefully, until we're ready t' present our takeover as a done deal t' Custis. Also gotta try'n do it in such a way as t' keep the cadets 'n' juniors in Tolar's brigade uncertain an' off-balance, so they might hesitate 'bout joinin' in against us all at once. Just a little hesitation on their part can gain us a lot, an' might make the diff'rence 'tween whether we can pull this off or not. But things hafta be done in a certain order, m'dear - an' this'll knock out one of Tolar's main pillars of support, leave him more isolated an' less confident. Then we'll be able t' deliver th' final blow at th' time of our choosing. Now, how sure are you that your Vermilya's got his int'rest?"

"Oh, she's got his interest, an' then some, don't you worry 'bout that. He'll be taking her into his bed tonight, or I don't know my dogs or vixes!"

"Then we'll move t'night; make sure Vermilya knows what she's gotta do. With Lord Urthblood all th' way down in Southsward an' occupied with high-level negotiations there, that clears th' way fer me t' get done what 'ee sent me here t' do. Who knows? Mebbe he timed things this way so he could turn a blind eye t' Foxguard, an' leave me t' exercise my judgment however I see fit. Could be he's even foreseen Tolar becomin' less an' less loyal to 'im, an' he's countin' on me t' solve that particular dilemma fer him, without havin' t' dirty his own paw with it. Wouldn't be th' first time he's had me head off such future troubles, if that's what 'ee's got in mind now."

"And if it's not?" Joska worried. "If you take charge of Foxguard, then find out that's not what he wanted at all?"

"Then he shouldn'ta summoned me down from th' North, should 'ee? He knows what I do. He knows that better'n anybeast. An' I think he knew 'xactly what he was doin'."

"I hope you know what _you're_ doing."

Jaffox grinned. "Our destinies're hitched t'gether now either way, ain't they? Oh, an' one other bit o' news that eagle bore: Lord Urthblood's chief glassmaker had an unfortunate run-in with th' Searat King, an' ended up gettin' himself dead … which means Mona's liddle plaything is almost certain t' be recalled to Salamandastron in 'is place. Ain't official yet, but I'm takin' it as a given that it will be soon. That's another reason I wanna move ahead now, while she's still distracted an' occupied with him here. Might keep her mind clouded an' scattered enuff elsewhere that she'll not see the end comin' until it's upon her."

"That vixen unnerves me." Joska glanced around Mona's surgery once more, at the skeletons and body parts on display. "An' I'm not just talkin' about this place. There's something … not quite of this world about her."

"Might be true. T'was said in th' North she could divine a beast's ills 'n' hurts just by layin' paws on 'em, so she might share some o' Lord Urthblood's gift, far as that goes. But not 'is prophetic sight, I'm guessin'. So don'tcher worry, I'll have you as head vixen 'round here soon 'nuff, an' it'll be a lot more prestige fer you than any y' ever enjoyed in that old valley o' yers. In the meantime, you tell yer sisters t' get to work on that young swordpup who's so friendly with Redwall; we get him on our side, or at least so tied up in conflictin' loyalties that he'll not stand against us, that'll be another point in our favor that'll make things easier fer us."

"I'm still worried about how we're playing this. Won't it let Tolar clearly know what we're on about, an' maybe draw a response from him that'll frustrate our own plans?"

"Not if we make it look like an accident, so he can't be sure our paws were really in it." Jaffox's grin widened to wholly menacing proportions. "An' I'm very good at makin' things look like accidents!"


	41. Chapter XL

**XL.**

 **CASTLE FLORET**

The first time Alex had been up on the roof of Castle Floret with Twindle Swain and Banter Skadsley, the peacocks had been nowhere in evidence.

Alex had first glimpsed them briefly down in the ballroom during the Liberation Day festivities, where they provided living, strutting ornamentation every bit as ostentatious as to fit Fael's preening needs, stalking amongst the celebrants and pausing here and there at key spots and moments to strike their poses and unfurl their impossibly ornate tailfeathers into breathtaking displays of painterly plumage before moving on. Like nothing the Abbey squirrel had ever seen or heard of before, they were, Fael delighted in boasting, yet another gift from a kingdom to the south, where such birds dwelt in veritable flocks.

"A gift?" Alex asked at this explanation. "How can any living, thinking creature be reduced to mere property and given as a gift?"

"Hahaha. Shut up, Redwaller."

As it turned out, the colorful birds were not there entirely against their will, and some even flew south for the winter, although most stayed on at Floret year-round, pampered and privileged fixtures of the Royal Court required only to look magnificent as they sauntered around the castle's functions and gatherings.

When not in demand for such special occasions, the peacocks and their plainer peahen consorts tended to congregate on the roof levels during fair weather days such as this, preferring the open air and fresh breezes and sunshine over the enclosed confines of the castle's inner chambers and passages. Now Alex meandered among them, the birds occasionally flashing their tails at him or their females counterparts in proud and regal courtship exhibitions, or just to show that they could. The squirrel idly wondered what Redwall's Sparra would make of such a thing as he turned to gaze out at the magnificent vistas offered by this elevated vantage, the entirety of Southsward laid out below him in a sprawling panorama that made even the wide views from Redwall's ramparts pale in comparison. The only thing Alex could even remotely compare it to was the view from the summit of Foxguard, but even that was different, the heights of Floret atop its lofty plateau melding with the countryside around it in a way that the fox stronghold's solitary, isolated tower did not.

Alex had little company other than the peacocks, finding far fewer lookouts standing watch up on the battlements than he might have expected. Whether this represented the normal state of affairs or a lighter rotation due to the just-concluded festivities he could only guess, but either way, it made a certain sense; this high up with only a single ascending staircase linking the castle to the surrounding lands (and a moat and a drawbridge besides), vigilance could be a little lax, since no enemy could easily attain and enter Floret if the castle's occupants sought to deny them.

Wandering along the perimeter of this highest part of Floret's main roof with just a few conical-peaked towers jutting above him, Alex came to a point where the battlements overlooked an open balcony slightly below. It took him a few moments to realize Saqueena reclined on a divan out upon that terrace, unclothed and exposed to the sight of anybeast up here who happened to be looking that way … as Alex most certainly was now.

A nearby peacock, deciding Alex had favored the Queen with a gaze several moments past propriety, gave out an earsplitting squawk which was a hallmark of his kind. Alex jumped in alarm, and Saqueena opened her eyes, glancing up from her sunbathing spot. Sighting the abashed Redwaller, she gave him a playful wink before closing her eyes again.

"Stay away from Squirrelqueen," the vociferous bird advised, "or Squirrelking will take your squirrelhood, then you be squawking higher than peacock, craaawwk!"

"Hadn't crossed my mind," Alex bit off, forcing himself away from that part of the roof as he also forced himself not to think of Mina, and not for the first time since arriving at Floret. For all that he might find to criticize about the jaded, fickle, debauched Royal Court of Southsward, he could not deny that Fael and Saqueena seemed to enjoy a genuinely devoted marriage, with a beloved family as a result. He wondered if he would ever know the same with his estranged wife again.

Retracing his steps the way he'd come, his path took him past the posts and braces erected for the Banterball tournament which had followed the pageant performance; again, whether this installation was being kept up for possible further use or whether their dismantling had simply been overlooked or neglected in the wake of the Liberation Day festivities, he could only speculate. He'd ventured up here to take in the tournament himself two days ago, since it became clear that Fael had no intention of meeting privately with the Redwaller and Northlanders after the play or taking the time for any serious discussions that day. The athletic exhibition proved everything Banter Skadsley had promised, and more, with multiple balls and multiple squirrels from the two opposing teams in constant frantic motion, the action unfolding too rapidly for Alexander's eyes to easily follow. He supposed there were rules, as some patterns of strategy seemed to be observed by the participants, but the Abbeybeast could not have said what they were.

And yes, several Floret squirrels did go over the side of the roof during the course of the match, but on this occasion none plummeted all the way to the moat and the waiting rescue otters, the nets capturing them all.

The Redwall squirrel's thoughts drifted to the more noteworthy events and revelations of the prior day. If Fael had greeted them with empty pomp and pageantry and a smothering effusiveness of his own inflated importance, the banal frivolity of amusement arcades and mock death-defying competitions and inaccurate, historically-mangled theatrical commemorations, all of that faded to insignificance against what had been learned of the fate of Viceroy Korba's searat delegation, and the aggressions of these impossibly savage reptile invaders encroaching from the south. And then there was the bizarre incident of Urthblood's mauling, and the badger's cryptic utterance about not being able to see the lizard who'd nearly cost him his other paw. That wound seemed to be healing well, as far as anybeast could tell, and Urthblood showed no undue concern that he would not recover completely; already he spoke of examining the reptilian corpse in the next day or two, and then communicating with Salamandastron to arrange whatever demonstration he had in mind for how he would deal with the murderous lizards.

For his own part, Alex found his thoughts increasingly turning to how he might sabotage Urthblood's efforts along these lines. Even if it meant handing a victory to Tratton, it might still be worth it if it kept the treacherous badger out of Southsward. Now Alex just had to figure out how he might possibly manage such a thing, if it lay within his power at all.

It didn't help that Urthblood was being typically tight-lipped about his own ideas on the matter, leaving even Abellon and Witko in the dark as to what their master might be thinking. Perhaps Urthblood wanted to keep open all possibilities until he'd had the opportunity to autopsy the lizard marauder. Fael, out of fairness - or perhaps due to his penchant for playing with other creatures like they were pieces in a game for his own amusement - had released Korba and two of the searat envoy's senior companions from their cages and relocated them to respectable lodgings within the castle, where they would be free to work on their own solutions to the lizard challenge and even communicate with the outside world if they wished - not that they had any easy way to get messages to the _Bloodreef_ and _Redsky_ awaiting just off the coast. Then again, Urthblood too presently lacked any such lines of communication, too far south to flash signals to Foxguard or Salamandastron, even if he'd had such a signalling mirror here, and without any of his birds for the moment.

For the moment … but moments tend to change, and history sometimes changes with them.

So absorbed was Alex in these ruminations that he failed to notice the leather-breasted falcon dropping out of the sky toward the very castle roof he occupied. It wasn't until the peacocks around him sent up a warning racket and scattered to get out of the landing raptor's way that Alex glanced up to behold the feathered warrior scout about to join him.

Klystra alighted upon the stone with assured directness, folding his wings and straightening to look the squirrel in the eye. Most mammals had to guess at how easily birdfolk could tell them apart, but in this case perhaps the Abbeybeast's dress gave him away.

"Alexander of Redwall," the falcon acknowledged with a nod of greeting and perhaps even a little respect. "Where is Lord Urthblood?"

"Why should I help you in any way?" Alex sternly countered. "You were part of the attack on Redwall that stole Latura away from us."

"Never attacked Redwall, never fought Abbeybeasts, only flew silly ratmaid on ahead."

"And you think that exonerates you?"

"Redwall squirrel use big words. Where is Lord Urthblood?"

"You'll not find out from me."

"From them, then." Klystra nodded past Alex at a small knot of Floret guards rushing to the scene as he stepped around the Abbey squirrel to face them. Alex was almost tempted to shout out a warning to the Southswarders that Klystra was an enemy menace to be driven away and repelled, but his inborn sense of decency forestalled such a trick, one which might get the falcon slain. However he felt about the Badger Lord and his minions, he would not stoop to Urthblood's level and take a life so casually.

The Floret squirrels surrounded Klystra, paws on hilts as they regarded the large bird impassively regarding them; the peacocks had long since scattered and fled to the far corners of the roof. They sensed from the falcon's stoic restraint and conversation with Alex that Klystra meant no harm, in spite of the supple breastplate marking him as a winged warrior - something no Southswarder had ever seen before.

"Who are you, and what business do you have at Castle Floret?" one of the guards demanded.

"Captain Klystra, of Lord Urthblood's aerial forces. Bring news for him. Where is he?"

"What news do you bring?" the squirrel pressed.

Klystra stared down his bill at the ground creature's temerity, then flicked it off, willing to divulge the requested information if it meant getting to see his badger master. "Fatality amongst his forces, possible reassignment of another to replace him."

Alex straightened. "What happened? Who died?"

Klystra gazed at him like an afterthought. "News for Lord Urthblood, not you."

"Your Lord is here," the Floret guard finally volunteered, "an honored guest of His Royal Highness. Shall we, um, send him up here to you?"

"Send him up, take me down, long as I speak with him."

The squirrels hesitated, clearly reluctant to introduce a warrior raptor into Floret proper. "Uh, stay here then, and we'll fetch him."

"Good. Will wait."

"As will I," added Alex, eliciting a baleful glare from the falcon.

"News not for you, Redwaller," Klystra insisted.

"That's too bad, because if it has anything to do with what's been going on in Mossflower, I'm going to hear it, and just let either you or Urthblood try to stop me!"

00000000000

If Urthblood had wished for privacy to receive Klystra's report and speak freely with his falcon captain, his desires were doomed to frustration. Not only did Alex and the roof guards remain to listen in, but King Fael himself, alerted to the bird's arrival, accompanied his badger guest to this rendezvous along with Tammion Tesque, the squirrel commander as eager as his sovereign to hear what this was all about.

Alex greeted the news of Trelayne's death with undeniable pangs of sorrow. When Klystra had hinted of a fatality amongst Urthblood's forces, the Redwaller had assumed it would be somebeast he didn't know, or one over whom he would shed no tears. But the glassmaker marten had struck Alex as a truly kind, generous and decent fellow, more absorbed with his craft than with the wider events of the world at large, and certainly not a fanatic of the stripe Urthblood typically counted among his followers, or a beast of any nefarious habits or intent whatsoever. Indeed, Trelayne might almost have made a good Redwaller, such was his benevolent temperament - and thus did it strike Alex as wildly out of character that Trelayne should seek to assassinate another creature in the way that he did - even the King of the Searats.

And that was the other major revelation to come out here, one which surprised Alex and Fael equally. Tratton himself, granted leave by the Badger Lord to travel abroad in Mossflower, and perhaps even to visit Redwall itself, escorted by a token guard of Gawtrybe. Even in these unprecedented times, such a development was highly unexpected.

"You had no right to do this!" Alex accused. "Unleashing that tyrant upon my home region, and perhaps my very home Abbey, to wreak what havoc there he might!"

"Unleash? Wreak havoc? He travels with a token guard of a mere score and a half of searats, escorted by nearly as many Gawtrybe, and heads into a part of Mossflower patrolled by a heavy concentration of my forces. Redwall too has its own ranks of defenders who can discourage any misbehavior on Tratton's part, so he will hardly be free to act in any irresponsible manner."

"Still, I can see this Abbeybeast's point," Fael interjected. "Why would you permit the King of the Empire you oppose and compete with in my own Court to enter into Mossflower as he pleases? It does strike me as rather … incongruous. And I must weigh all such factors in my decision to enter into any sort of agreement with you, mustn't I?"

Urthblood remained outwardly unperturbed by Fael's needling and vaguely mocking tone. "Salamandastron and Terramort are now officially at peace, Your Majesty; my business here in Southsward is simply to ensure that Tratton does not expand his sphere of influence past the point where it might upset the balance of power we have struck. In that sense, I might depart your lands just as satisfied if you rebuff us both as if I were to win your favor over Tratton. As far as Mossflower goes, Tratton did not technically even need my permission to go there, and sought my sanction as a mere courtesy, and formality. I deem it well that he did, since a protective guard of my own now journeys with him to help forestall any frictions between searat and woodlander."

"Frictions?" Alex choked out. "You mean like your most prized glassmaker going insane and trying to kill Tratton, getting himself slain in the bargain?"

"An isolated incident, with unique circumstances surrounding it. Trelayne suffered personally at the paws of searats, and saw the materials of his peaceful artist's trade subverted and used to take the lives of blameless beasts. He always bore searats a special grudge in that sense, although never would I have supposed it would lead him to this tragic pass."

"So, another shortcoming of your prophetic sights?" Alex jabbed. "Or just a miscalculation on the wisdom of allowing Tratton free run of Mossflower?"

Fael pounced with glee. "Ah! Good one, Redwaller! He's got you there, Lord!"

Alex scowled at this immature display, not sure how he felt about having Fael as an ally - in this, or in anything else.

Urthblood turned back to Klystra, unaware that he was about to discover yet another lapse in his future sight. "Does any other bird of my forces fly cover for Tratton's company in your stead?"

"Commodore Altidor during day. Captain Saugus at night, as before."

"And Captain Matowick is otherwise proceeding toward Mossflower with them as planned?"

Klystra cocked his head in puzzlement. "What mean? Captain Matowick at Salamandastron."

Urthblood stared at the falcon in silence for many moments. "Matowick is still at Salamandastron?" he repeated, in a way that made every other creature regard him there quizzically. "Who heads the party escorting Tratton?"

"Sergeant Poinsett."

"Poinsett is not a sergeant."

"Is now. Matowick promoted her, for this duty."

Fael smirked. "Something else go … not quite according to plan, Lord?" he asked smugly.

Urthblood said to Klystra, "Did Captain Matowick say anything else? About appointing Poinsett to lead the escort party, or her promotion in order to do so?"

"Not to me. Why? Matowick do something wrong?"

The badger stood considering his response. "No," he answered at last. "No, I left him in command of Salamandastron in my absence, to oversee matters there as he saw fit, according to his best judgment. This he has done. All remains as it should be."

"Well that's a relief," Alex said half-sarcastically. "From your reaction, I almost thought you'd meant for Matowick to journey to Redwall with Tratton. I can just imagine the reception he'd receive if he were to show up at our gates again, after what he - and you - pulled with Latura."

"Of course that would not have worked out," Urthblood said, still vaguely sounding as if he were trying to convince himself of this. "Although we do not know with certainty that Tratton intends to stop at the Abbey at all, however likely or obvious that might seem."

"If he does," Alex told Urthblood, "I want you to send word ahead to Redwall to expect him, so that they can prepare. They can't be hit with something like this without any warning … a visit by the Searat King … "

"But it won't be the Searat King, will it? As you have just heard Captain Klystra relate, Tratton travels under an assumed identity and in disguise. Indeed, considering the number of creatures currently at Redwall who might seek to harm him if they were to become aware of who he truly is - the Long Patrol, the former searat slaves, the rat refugees you have so unwisely taken in - this masquerade has proven a prudent precaution … as the unfortunate incident with Master Trelayne bears out."

Fael pouted theatrically. "Redwall gets the Searat King himself, while all he sends me are his lackeys. I do believe I feel slighted."

"Whether anybeast at Redwall figures out who he truly is or not," Alex pressed on, "they should still be alerted to the fact that a large party of searats approaches. Not to do so wouldn't be fair." The squirrel crossed his arms. "Oh, nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to."

"Oh, haha! Another good one there! We're just full of delightful unction this morning, aren't we?"

"You do not command my forces, Alexander of Redwall. I will decide what messages my birds carry back to Salamandastron, and to Mossflower. Not you."

"And _I_ get to decide whether your birds carry any messages at all." Fael raised his paw, and instantly every Floret squirrel on the roof around them had an arrow out of its quiver and nocked to its bowstring, gazes fastened upon Klystra.

Urthblood turned to Fael. "Your Majesty, am I not an honored guest at Floret, as you yourself have stated?"

"Up to a point. Still not sure how I feel about you taking reports and dispatching messages right from my own home. How can I be sure you're not communicating in some hidden code, right under my nose, to cause me mischief?"

"With all due respect, Majesty, I have gathered that mischief is what you relish."

A broad grin split Fael's face. "Ah, a stinging riposte! You're both on fire this morning! Maybe I should just set the two of you at each other, so I can stand back and watch!"

"Your Majesty," Urthblood went on, "you have charged me and Viceroy Korba to formulate competing proposals to help rid you of your 'dragon problem,' as you like to call it, and you have already conveyed to the Viceroy that he will be free to dispatch messages to his ships waiting off your coast. My resources lie much farther away, and if I am to be granted the same courtesy as the searats, I will need birds to communicate between Floret and Salamandastron, and possibly with my forces in Mossflower as well. Anything else would be favoring one side over the other, and I am sure you would not choose to favor searats over a fellow woodlander."

"Do not be too sure what I would do, badger. Perhaps I would like to see how well you do against the searats with one paw tied behind your back. Ooo - bad choice of words, wasn't that?"

Klystra, and not for the first time, regarded Urthblood's bandaged left paw. "What did happen, Lord?"

"Lizard bite. I am recovering."

"Ah. So, Klystra prisoner, or free to go?" The falcon eyed the armed squirrel guards.

"That appears to be somewhat ambiguous at the moment. But I would ask you to stay in any case. His Majesty has tasked me with a challenge, one I suspect will entail an open line of communication with Salamandastron, but I will not be able to proceed for another day or two, until I am fully able to conduct some necessary researches. In the meantime, you may abide here at Floret and stand ready to bear my next message when I am ready to send it."

Fael cleared his throat. "Er _herm_. I wasn't aware I'd conferred upon you the authority to extend invitations as to who gets to stay at my palace. Lord."

Urthblood turned to the Squirrel King. "Will this be a problem, Your Majesty?"

"Oh, no. We'll just find him a cage down in the Live Exhibits hall, perhaps next to our shrieking berserker bird. They can keep each other company - perhaps hold a contest to see who can shriek the loudest. I certainly won't be there for it."

"Might I suggest Captain Klystra be allowed to remain up here on the roof, since you and your squirrels appear somewhat skittish around him, and reluctant to bring him down into the castle proper."

"Skittish? Skittish, did you say?" Accepting this as a personal impugning of his gallantry, Fael stalked right over to Klystra and dealt the falcon a hard smack across the bill - or at least hard by Royal squirrel standards, although it scarcely made the raptor's head move. More surprised than alarmed or affronted, Klystra simply sat wide-eyed upon the battlements as Fael returned to Urthblood's side. "Did that look timid or skittish to you, Lord?"

"I trust you did not hurt your paw, Majesty," Urthblood said by way of reply.

"Of course not. You've been doing enough of that on your own for everybeast around here."

"With your leave, Your Highness, Captain Klystra may abide up here until I am ready to dispatch him again. You will not even be inconvenienced by having to see to his needs, since he subsists mostly on fish and is more than capable of sating his appetite with flights to the nearby broadstream. You will find him quite self-sufficient and low-maintenance … the most trouble-free guest you are likely to entertain at Floret this season, or any other."

Before Fael could get off another retort, Klystra said, "Should not stay so long, Lord. Captain Matowick awaits reply."

"What reply is that?" Urthblood asked.

"What to do with Master Trelayne, whether to recall Kyslith from Foxguard. Awaits your instructions."

"Trelayne is being borne back to Salamandastron, correct?" At the falcon's nod, Urthblood continued. "Then it will still take some days for his body to reach the mountain, so there is no hurry on that score. Unless Tolomeo knows something of Trelayne's burial wishes that I do not, I am inclined to have him interred on the south slopes alongside Machus, so that both may rest beneath the memorial statue that one crafted for the other. I think that would only be fitting. As for Kyslith, it was always that fox's choice to remain at Foxguard, not mine, and he conveyed that he would still willingly serve at my pleasure, so yes, I believe I will reassign him to Salamandastron to see to our needs there, at least for the short term. But again, the need is not pressing, and nothing which requires your immediate departure, Captain. Matters in Mossflower can wait; the situation here is far more vital."

Klystra fluffled in acceptance. "Captain Matowick not like being kept waiting, not being told what to do."

"Captain Matowick has shown an admirable tendency for autonomy. I am sure he will manage just fine."


	42. Chapter XLI

**XLI.**

 **FOXGUARD**

"Let's go find someplace more private," Vermilya cooed into Sappakit's ear.

"More private?" the swordfox returned softly. "What could be more private than here?"

The two foxes snuggled together in Sappakit's bed, basking in the afterglow of the first round of their passions - but what was certainly looking to not be the last for this night. So far the ploy was going perfectly; the potion of Joska's that Vermilya had slipped into their wine had rendered the veteran swordsbeast both unbridled in his lust and highly susceptible to suggestion - the two effects most crucial to pulling this off. Vermilya too had partaken of the drugged wine, but not as much, and unlike Sappakit she had other objectives in mind beyond sharing each other's bodies.

Where these objectives of her own had come from, Vermilya could not have said.

She tore her gaze away from his glistening, eager eyes and glanced across the room at the other bed in the chamber, now empty, its neatly-made blanket and pillow awaiting the return of its tired occupant from his night watch. "You share your quarters. What if he comes back and interrupts us in the middle of … at an inconvenient moment?"

Sappakit caressed her shoulder lovingly. "Remillard's on night rotation, as a favor to me, and Remmy takes both his duties and his friendships very seriously. He knows why I asked to have our room for myself tonight, and he'll respect our privacy, just as I've respected his on such occasions. He'll not bother us, so don't you worry about that."

Vermilya put on a smile both adoring and playful. "I've always loved the water. I've always wanted to … always wondered what it would be like … " She propped herself up on one elbow to gaze down at him. "You've got rafts outside, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but … you're not suggesting … there'll be a shrew guard on them!"

"So? You're a senior member of your brigade, aren't you? Order them away!" She leaned down and planted a long, inviting kiss on his muzzle - one she broke long before she would have liked. "Meet me at the canal!" she teased, and then was out of the bed and back in her skirt dress faster than Sappakit would have thought possible. "Oh, and don't forget to put your uniform back on first! Tongues will wag if the sentries see you following me out in just your fur, as splendid a sight as that would be!" She yanked the rumpled blanket off of the surprised dogfox, exposing his unclothed form to their mutual night vision, and bundled it under her arm. "I'll take this too, to spread beneath us - don't want to get splinters, do we? See you out there!" And with that she fled the bedchamber, making sure to give her fluffed tail an extra beckoning swish as the last glimpse Sappakit would see of her departing figure.

So in thrall was he to the urges coursing through him, bolstered by the aphrodisiac effects of the potion he'd unwittingly imbibed, that he had all he could do not to go racing right out after her. But some small sense of propriety asserted itself in his romance-addled mind, and he forced himself to dress, making sure every aspect of his uniform was buttoned, buckled and aligned to parade-duty perfection before heading out himself. After all, she had asked him to don it again, and he always felt most like a proper fox while garbed thus. Perhaps she saw him that way as well, and the trim black tunic against his russet fur was part of his allure to her? And any detail which might increase his chances of prolonging this night's tryst was to be seized.

That he would follow her to the canal as bidden, of that there was never any question.

The junior swordfoxes Mynor and Vilex, standing watch at the entry portal that night, saluted but said not a word as their superior passed them on his way out of Foxguard. The jug of wine in the veteran's paw, and the look of intent yet pleasureful purpose on his features, would have told the whole story, even if Vermilya, bearing her blanket with her, hadn't passed this same way just a short time before. That Sappakit had finally chosen on this night to join several of his fellow senior foxes in taking a vixen into his bed was fairly common knowledge and a fact begrudged by nobeast at the fortress, but that didn't stop Mynor and Vilex from exchanging wry smirks after Sappakit was gone. It seemed this particular swordfox had thrown discretion to the wind and sought to pursue his carnal pleasures in much more open fashion - a decision sure to provide grist for gossip at the stronghold for many days to come.

With the fullness of summer upon Mossflower, no hint of chill tinged the night, and if anything the air held an almost sultry edge to it. For all that he'd just donned his uniform with such great care, Sappakit found himself eagerly relishing the prospect of doffing it again just as quickly - and not only because of the night's humid warmth. He hoped Vermilya felt the same about shedding her own garments, even out here in the open under the stars.

The shrews Grice and Frasmo had drawn that night's ferry duty, standing ready in case anybeast required a quick crossing of the Moss. Down in the canal below them bobbed the three passenger rafts Foxguard now boasted - the original single small barge the fortress had always maintained, joined now by the two newer craft wrought by the Gawtrybe for the expected increase in boating traffic. Even more rafts, constructed by Captain Choock's shrews, now took shape out along the banks of the Moss proper, and ultimately some if not most of these new floating platforms would be employed to convey loads of rat prisoners down to the coast and thence to Salamandastron for processing and delivery to Tratton. For now, however, the burgeoning armada of rough-hewn vessels lay waiting for their purpose to be fulfilled.

They were not all that lay waiting, Sappakit quickly saw. Vermilya had already climbed down onto the middle raft in anticipation of her lover's arrival, blanket spread across the wood timbers. She still wore her skirt dress, but the look in her eyes suggested she might prefer to correct that situation at the earliest possible moment.

Frasmo gave a knowing chuckle at the sight of the approaching swordfox, eyeing the wine jug he bore. "Out fer a liddle late-night picnic?" he asked wth a grin.

"Exactly. You're excused from duty until further notice - I've got things here." Sappakit didn't quite slur his words, but it was apparent to the two shrews that much of the wine in the jug must have already been sampled.

"Aye, we understand," said Grice; while the shrews were technically under Choock's command, here at Foxguard the senior members of Tolar's brigade carried the ultimate authority, and if one of them now wished to be left alone for personal reasons, the shrews would happily obey. Besides, Grice and Frasmo had both been in similar situations themselves in the Northlands, and empathized with two amorous beasts who sought a little privacy - even if they might question this particular choice of rendezvous spot. "We'll tell ev'rybeast not t' come 'round disturbin' ya. Enjoy yer 'picnic!'"

The two shrews withdrew, chortling between themselves and making somewhat less of an effort to maintain any mask of decorum to match Vilex and Mynor's, but then, they didn't need to report or answer to either Sappakit or Tolar directly. Satisfied that they were gone and meant not to return - not that Sappakit particularly cared just at the moment - the male fox stepped down onto the ever-so-slightly rising and falling raft to join his mate, just barely avoiding an over-stumble. Vermilya stretched out invitingly on the blanketed spot she'd prepared, her gaze up at him equally inviting and clearly visible to his night vision. Setting the jug on the blanket, he lay down beside her, propped slightly sideways on one arm. "Is this really what you wanted? Seems it would be too easy for others to watch us, if they're so inclined."

"So what if they do? Doesn't the thrill of possible discovery titillate you at all? But you heard those shrews; they'll make sure we're not disturbed … and they'd dare not disobey a fox of your standing, would they?"

"Likely not, no," Sappakit conceded, although he couldn't deny to himself that his partner's remark about public discovery did indeed hold an edge of additional excitement for him. As a swordfox of the brigade, he'd faced danger and peril countless times over the seasons, but this was something new and alluring to him: danger of a fun kind, with no risk of anything more than embarrassment and, at most, a slight tarnishing of his otherwise unimpeachable reputation. Then again, it might be something to boast about as much as to be chagrined by. This thought had him grinning broadly.

Vermilya rolled onto her back, paws folded behind her head as she gazed up at the starry sky. "Isn't this wond'ful? Gently-lapping water 'neath and all around us, stars up above … and a night mild enough to be comfy outdoors in just our fur."

"So why're you still wearing that dress?" Sappakit teased.

"Why're _you_ still wearin' that uniform?"

He leaned down to share a deep kiss with her, and shortly thereafter they'd dispensed with both the dress and the uniform coming between them, fully exposed to any eyes who cared to spy on them, and not caring one whit as they concerned themselves only with each other.

Thus occupied, their ears filled with their thudding heartbeats and breathless huffs and moans even to the exclusion of the ambient water noises of the canal, neither picked up on the stealthy approach of other beasts, who for now hid themselves in the bushes atop the canal bank, content to look on in undiscovered silence.

00000000000

"Has anybeast seen Sappakit?"

Tolar, as was his habit, rose before the sun to get his usual early start on the day and enjoy breakfast in Foxguard's modest dining chamber before the crush of later-risers made the mess hall too crowded to avoid bumping elbows with his fellow meal-takers. Mona joined him as often as not, but on this morning she'd slumbered on even as he slid out of bed and dressed, clearly tired from all the work she was doing with Kyslith in the glassmaker's cellar workshop these days. Tolar was content to let her sleep later if her mind and body bade her to do so. At least it suggested his erstwhile mate might not be so eager in her labors and association with the younger fox as to be bounding out of bed at first light to embrace it at the Sword's own expense.

Which was not to say she was by any means spurning his attentions of late. Tolar unconsciously tugged and straightened his jacket as he waited for the kitchen weasels to deliver his filled plate into his paws, fondly remembering the previous night's affections, which had gone far beyond mere affections; whatever was going on between Mona and Kyslith, it didn't seem to be leaving her any less amorous toward her primary mate. Perhaps Tolar remained her only true one; at least he certainly liked to think so.

It was also customary for many of the other senior brigade members to join him early as well, with Sappakit typically foremost among those. And while his absence at this hour was not unheard of, lately the former second-in-command had made a point of being up along with Tolar, so the two of them could informally confer on the challenges facing them that day - and with Jaffox and his untrustworthy vixens at Foxguard, and a potentially hostile horde camped just outside their walls, that left a great deal over which to confer.

Remillard, standing in the short line behind Tolar waiting to have his own plate filled by the serving weasel, gave a chuckle at his Sword's inquiry. "Didn't you hear, sir? Sapp's trying out his new vixen. Just getting off night rotation myself, a watch I stood as a favor to him so they'd have the quarters to themselves. Might be tarrying between the sheets this morn longer than is usual for him. Wouldn't worry, tho' - he'll be on paw for morning muster bright eyed and especially bushy tailed! He's too conscientious not to be!"

Tolar could not keep the scowl off his face entirely. "So, Sapp's finally given in as well, has he? I knew that one vixen has been cozying up to him lately; guess he finally fell for her charms, huh?"

"Surprised it took him this long, sir, since he was always at the forefront of sayin' maybe we should have vixens to help relieve the stresses and tensions of daily fortress living - for the senior brigade members, at any rate. At least he had the good sense to stay away from those two sisters of Jaffox's bitch Joska."

"I would have ordered him to do so if such common sense had evaded him on its own," Tolar growled. "Believe it or not, they've both been making barely-disguised advances toward Roxroy, of all beasts. Fortunately, he had the good sense to walk away, and then report on the matter to me. I want that false seer and her fawning siblings kept far away from every fox of the brigade."

"Don't blame you there, sir. Sapp's new cuddlepup seems nice enough, and - "

"Excuse me. _Cuddlepup?_ "

Remillard put on a sheepish face as Tolar tarried at the front of the line even though his tray was filled. "Yeah, that's, uh, what we've come to call our bedmates, sir. Just an affectionate term that tickles our fancy, and reminds us not to form any bonds too strong or take things more seriously than we should. My Opiola's a sweet little thing, and seems innocent enough, but I'd never think of taking her as a wife or any kind of serious mate until I got to know her a lot longer and a lot better. And I've met Sapp's vix Vermilya, and she strikes me the same way. We may be satisfying our needs, My Sword, but we're also keeping our wits about us as we do so, just as you ordered. We'll not be taken by surprise, sir."

Tolar ate his meal quickly, with neither relish nor companionable conversation, a sense of disquiet nagging at his mind over Sappakit's absence. Perhaps it was just disappointment that his most trusted lieutenant had at last succumbed to the mild mania sweeping through the senior swordfoxes of the brigade, but for whatever reason he felt compelled to go check on his fellow swordsbeast at the soonest and without delay.

Leaving the mess, Tolar proceeded directly to the shared quarters of Sappakit and Remillard on the third floor, a short way around the curved hall from Tolar and Mona's own quarters. The door stood ajar, so the Sword let himself in, pushing it open the rest of the way. Within he saw two beds, each equally unoccupied: Remillard's well-made and unslept in, and Sappakit's, lacking either dogfox or vixen … or, for that matter, any blanket, although the state of the rumpled sheet spoke of occupation of a most energetic variety. Another noteworthy detail was Sappakit's sword, sheathed and leaning against the head of the bed, where most of the brigade habitually kept theirs while they slept, positioned to grab at a moment's notice should the need arise. But of his uniform, or any of the vixen's garments, there was no sign. So, wherever they'd gone, Sapp had ventured out dressed, but not completely dressed, for no fox under Tolar (or Andrus or Machus before him) considered himself fully outfitted without his blade. All of which suggested his lieutenant had not been thinking entirely clearly, or else had had much more on his mind than properly equipping himself.

Rather than descend directly to the courtyard to tour the grounds in search of the wayward fox, Tolar instead climbed the winding stairs of the tower above the fortress proper, to the height of the first three windows, spaced evenly around the tower's circumference to grant an overview of the entire premises from three slightly varying heights. Nowhere could Tolar locate the fox he recognized as the one he sought, or make out any less distinct figure lacking a blade at its side, or any black-clad, red-furred individual in the company of an adoring vixen. If he'd gazed a little more intently out of the window facing west toward the canal, and not been so focused on the area encompassing just the perimeter wall and what it enclosed, he might have noted the very vixen in question slumbering on one of the ferry barges there, but for now his eyes failed to catch that detail.

Now he did descend the spiral staircase all the way to the ground level and exit onto the fortress lawns, proceeding to the pair of junior swordfoxes who'd yet to be relieved from their night watch at the main entry portal. Tolar seriously doubted Sappakit would have left the fortress grounds entirely, but he wanted to rule that out before conducting a more thorough search of Foxguard itself. To his surprise, Mynor and Vilex immediately supplied that the veteran swordsbeast had indeed ventured out from the confines of the stronghold, and the details of those circumstances.

"Vixen came our first, sir," Vilex attested, "carrying a blanket with her. We assumed she was heading out to rejoin her horde around to the north side, but when I saw her out - just to be courteous, you know - she kept going straight, out toward the canal."

"And a short bit after that," Mynor followed up, "Sappakit came trotting out along after her, headed in the same direction. Neither of us went out with him, guessing well enough for ourselves what the two of them were up to, if not exactly where they meant to get up to it. Nezt came down from the walltop to ask us if Sappakit had said anything to us, and we told him no, but he was able to confirm they'd both struck out along the canal."

Tolar digested this revelation. "How did they … seem?" he asked, unsure whether the two junior foxes could respond meaningfully to so vague an inquiry, but they understood what he was getting at.

"They both seemed in high and, um, mischievous spirits," Mynor replied.

"And Sappakit had a wine jug with him," added Vilex. "And it looked like they'd been, um, partaking of it."

Tolar frowned. "Sappakit doesn't drink."

"Maybe not on duty," ventured Mynor. "And maybe he's always considered himself to be on duty all the time. But last night he was definitely off duty … if you know what I mean, sir."

"Way off duty," Vilex underscored, eliciting a juvenile grin from his companion.

Tolar allowed the faintest ghost of a smile to play across his own lips. "Have a care there, pups; if anything ever happens to me, he'll be your new Sword."

"Oh, uh, sorry, sir!"

"Very sorry, sir, and pardons!"

Tolar's momentary mirth faded as he stared past the two sentries at the tunnel-like entryway that dipped under the wall. So early had he risen that the sun was still not up, and while the fortress around them was slowly coming alive with the morning activities of foxes, squirrels, shrews and weasels all, he could still see how Sappakit and his lady love might have remained in the embrace of sleep - and of each other - well past the veteran's usual waking hour on such a calm and peaceful dawn as this, especially if they'd tired each other out with the previous night's activities, and were sleeping off the effects of wine as well. Still, it bothered him how Sapp of all foxes was acting as a besmitten kit who'd lost his head over a vixen like this. Bad enough that some of the others had behaved thus, but he'd expected better from his senior underling.

Gathering himself, Tolar strode forward through the recessed entryway and out into Mossflower. Learning what he had from Mynor and Vilex, he no longer worried for Sappakit's well-being, instead focused on how to best rouse the amorous fox with a minimum of embarrassment or loss of dignity - and Tolar decided that was best done by him alone, before any larger group came across him … if it wasn't too late for that already.

The Sword went to the head of the canal, a good arrow's flight from the fortress walls, and then farther out along the otter-excavated channel dug for the construction of Foxguard and now maintained for ease of boating traffic visiting the stronghold. Not spotting the two lovers in the immediate vicinity - or anybeast else, suggesting Sappakit had dismissed the usual ferry watch for the sake of his own privacy - Tolar strolled all the way out to where the rafts were tied up, and there he found exactly half of what he was looking for … and not the half he would have preferred.

Vermilya lay stretched out on her borrowed blanket on the middle raft, using Sappakit's black jacket as a covering which only kept her modest to an extent; her own doffed garments lay on the wood timbers beside her. Eyes closed and breathing softly, the vixen appeared carefree and dead to the world, but of her swordfox partner there was no sign. Puzzled, Tolar turned and looked around him; Sappakit certainly wouldn't have gone wandering far in just his fur, but a quick check of the nearby riverbank and shrubberies turned up no trace of his senior lieutenant.

Tolar stepped down onto the raft, causing it to dip ever so slightly under his added weight, and padded across to the sleeping vixen, prodding at her gently with the tip of his scabbard. She stirred and murred, eyelids fluttering before coming fully open, and then she smiled up at the swordfox standing over her. "Why, hullo there, and good … " Her smiled drained away as she blinked in confusion. "Wait … you're not you … "

"Where's Sappakit?" Tolar asked, not unkindly, but not to be forestalled either.

Vermilya, suddenly aware of her state before Foxguard's chieftain, sat up and drew her legs close to her, sweeping her tail across her front as she sought to cover herself up as much as she could with Sappakit's jacket, taking additional moments to realize just what garment she had draped over her. Looking down at the black uniform tunic as if lost, she too started glancing around them. "I … I don't remember. Where did Sappakit go?"

"That seems to be the question of the day, doesn't it?" Tolar reached down to retrieve the wine jug lying alongside the newly-self-conscious vixen; one quick hoist was all he needed to feel that the bottle had been completely drained of its contents … and for somebeast like Sappakit, who rarely partook of spirits, to have imbibed so much in such a short time …

A burst of worry, somewhere short of panic, gripped Tolar as he let the jug fall back to the raft deck with a hollow clunk. All the pieces were coming together in his mind, in the worst possible way. And if the worst had happened here …

Sapp had been here, and now he wasn't … but his clothes still were, and so was his vixen. And he'd had a lot to drink, without the experience or tolerance to handle it. On a raft. Surrounded by water. With all other witnesses and anybeast who might have helped him sent away, presumably at his own orders, leaving him to face any distress he encountered entirely on his own, in an inebriated state …

Tolar stepped to the edges of the moored raft, causing it to sway more noticeably than before, and scanned the waters of the canal around them. It didn't take much searching to find what he'd dreaded, bobbing in the water between their raft and another, half-under the barge deck beneath his paws so that he'd failed to spot the feared sight before now.

"Oh, fur."

Vermilya, shifting the black jacket to keep it around her, crawled across the deck on paws and knees to see what had elicited this despondent invective from the Sword.

Then she screamed, deep and bloodcurdling and genuine.

Inside, Tolar was screaming as well.

The Sword reached down into the water, pulling Sappakit completely out from under the barge and hauling the unresponsive fox up onto the raft. The body had been floating face-down, crushing all but the slimmest hope that Sappakit might yet be revived, but one glance at the horrific wound at the back of the drowned fox's skull was all it took to see that there would be no recovery for Tolar's former second-in-command. The morning was mild, but Sappakit's sodden form was clammy to the touch. He had been dead for some time.

Tolar hauled back and smacked Vermilya across the face to get her to stop screaming. Then his blade was out, its keen edge pressed to her throat. Their muzzles practically touching, he growled, "What happened here? What did you do to him?"

Terror in her wide eyes, she bawled, "I … I didn't do anything! I was asleep, an' he was at my side, an' … an' that's all I remember!" Then she broke down completely, body wracked by tearful sobs.

Fangs half-bared in frustrated fury, Tolar slowly lowered his blade. "I will find out what went on here," he swore, voice cold as his old friend's corpse. "I _will_ find out."


	43. Chapter XLII

**XLII.**

 **CASTLE FLORET**

"Well, you've gone and ruined it."

The Squirrel King was not happy. He'd assigned his Court Physician Arius Hood to assist Urthblood with the examination of the "fast dragon," but when the Royal doctor saw what the badger intended, he excused himself from the autopsy and hurried off to alert Fael. Now the ruler of Floret stood staring Urthblood down, as much as anybeast could stare down a creature twice its size, his twitching tail betraying his aggravation.

"Was it really necessary to cut the head apart?" Fael harangued on, less put off by the gory display on the slab before him than by the ruination of his prized trophy. "I'll never be able to display it now."

"Yes, Your Majesty, it was necessary," Urthblood replied simply, scarcely looking up from his intent study of the reptilian brain tissue.

"Oh really? And would you mind telling me why?"

Now Urthblood did pause and tear himself away from his coroner's investigation to give Fael his full attention. "I have very strong reason to believe that this lizard possessed a prophetic faculty similar to my own. Such a trait is exceedingly rare in mammals, and almost unheard of in the unfurred species. We may be looking at something completely new here, never before encountered by anybeast of Mossflower, Southsward or the Northlands."

"Prophetic abilities, you say? Funny, I don't seem to recall it telling your fortune as it was ripping your paw apart."

"Such things manifest themselves in different ways. And my unique perspective allowed me to perceive aspects of this creature perhaps hidden to all other eyes."

"It's bad manners to flout special powers and privilege before your Royal host." Fael glanced at the deconstructed lizard skull. "And, speaking of your ravaged paw, I know Arius didn't help you do any of _that_. However did you manage that, working alone?"

"My paw has mostly healed, and seasons of living as a one-pawed beast has rendered me most adept at utilizing that one paw to its fullest. You should see what I can still do in the forge room at Salamandastron, when I set my mind to it."

"So it seems. So, why the brain?"

"If this lizard truly did possess any manner of prophetic gift or future foresight, such an ability would most logically reside in the brain. I study it now to seek out any telltale signs which might betray or indicate such a trait."

"Ah. But I see one little problem with your own logic. If this truly is the first specimen of its species you've ever encountered, how will you know what to look for? How will you know what's normal for its kind, and what represents the kind of anomaly you're looking for?"

"Simple. I will obviously need to study additional brains of additional lizards. But every such study must begin somewhere, and mine begins here."

Fael grinned. "Okay, badger, now you're starting to talk my language. Just make sure when you round up more of these scaly nightmares for me that you keep a few of them intact for exhibition purposes. And if you can capture one or two alive, all the better. I mean, if a bunch of dumb river otters can pull that off, surely it should prove no challenge at all for a Searat Empire-defying Lord such as yourself, should it?"

"Now that Skipper Dawton has told us of his net strategy, I am sure I will meet with success … especially if the holts accompany me to where these lizards dwell, and assist in the operation. However, I might have other ideas on how to meet this threat. You'll notice I have opened the chest cavity as well?"

"Rather hard not to notice, yes."

"The lungs appear more developed than in those of mammals I have examined, although I admit I have limited experience with reptiles as a whole, and cannot say with certainty whether this represents an aberration, or is typically reptilian. I suspect the former, however, due to other factors I have also uncovered. The heart is somewhat distended and very tough, as if it has seen strain and yet is designed for heavy effort, while the blood vessels appear larger than they should be for a creature this size. This leads me to some conclusions on their behavior which may aid us in our struggle against them."

Fael straightened, showing keen and legitimate interest. "You have my attention, badger."

"These physical characteristics, taken in combination with an arrangement of the outer scales and the subcutaneous layer beneath, speaks of a novel and perhaps unique heat-absorbing mechanism … and not just absorption, but conversion, distribution and immediate utilization. It is my belief that these lizards have adapted to a basking existence unlike anything we have seen before, taking in heat from their surroundings to a degree which drives their own internal temperature up to perhaps dangerous levels, and that this allows them to move faster and fight through more grievous injury than they otherwise might. The enhanced lungs support this theory, as does the toughened heart, since they would require much air to fuel such berserker rampages, and a way to distribute that air fuel more rapidly; it could be that this particular individual is a survivor of numerous such battles, which might account for why this heart appears strained as well as sturdy, for such a habit would surely strain any creature's system indeed. And this would all support Skipper Dawton's direct observations as well. He has seen firstpaw what these reptiles are capable of, and now I have discovered the explanation for how they can perform as they do."

"Yes, although you've seen what they can do as well … firstpaw." Fael's gaze dropped to Urthblood's healing paw, no longer bandaged and the myriad stitched gouges plainly visible. "Although it wasn't all that warm down in the Live Exhibits Hall. So how do you account for it attacking so savagely, without having sunned itself recently? That rather undermines your theory, doesn't it?"

"Not at all, Majesty. I was taken off guard, not expecting an attack at all - a lapse I will not allow to happen a second time."

"You'd better not," Fael interjected, "or next time you really will end up as a no-pawed badger."

"The simple explanation," Urthblood went on, "is that the assault on me was lethargic compared to what this lizard could have carried out had it been fully warmed and fueled with its maximum, optimum battle heat. Skipper Dawton seemed to think that might be the case as well, contrasting what he saw from this caged specimen with what he witnessed on the coastlands, when the lizards they encountered were in full battle frenzy. I still stand by my theory."

"I still don't see how you can test it … or how we might be able to use it to our advantage, even if true."

"I can. If, as I believe, the entire military tactical strategy of these lizards is based upon the elevation of their internal body heat to perhaps unsafe levels, then might not the application of additional heat from an outside source push them well past that level, causing them to perish?"

"Ah! Fight fire with fire!"

"Not literally, although it might come down to that, if more elegant and elaborate methods fail. I was thinking more of a weapon the idea for which I have carried in my head for some seasons now. Tell me, are most days sunny here in Southsward?"

"Mostly, except during winter. And we do get our share of spring showers, and autumn storms too. But now that summer is upon us … "

"Yes, summer. When these lizards, if I am right, will be at their most dangerous - but also their most vulnerable. The weapon I have in mind would consist of mirrors and lenses, of a very large scope. Deployed as I envision, on a suitably cloudless day, they could be used to redirect and focus the sun's rays upon an enemy with incinerating heat, much as a small, paw-held magnifying lens can be used to incinerate ants, except on a far larger scale."

Fael regarded Urthblood with gleeful, horrified respect. "You do think big, don't you, Lord? But what if the sun goes in just when we need it for battle?"

"Then we had better hope that Skipper Dawton and his otter holts are standing by with many nets and javelins, as last time."

"Hmm. Still seems to me that fire would be a far easier and simpler solution … assuming your guesses about their body heat are even correct. Crafting the kind of mirrors and lenses of the type you propose could take the better part of a season, even with the full resources of Floret at your disposal, if it could be done at all, and then we'd have most of the summer behind us already. Better to just fill some vessels with flammable oil and lob it at the scaly cretins when they charge, wouldn't you agree?"

"I do possess such weapons as well."

"Of course you do. And if this is the best you can come up with, then I fear your searat competitors might just surpass you in this little contest. They, after all, can bring to bear their explosive powder that can blast these lizards limb from limb - and they don't need a sunny day to do it, either."

"They have the stormpowder, true - but how accurately and precisely can they deliver it? Catapults are not exactly pinpoint weapons. And the mirror-lens arrangement is not the only defensive measure I am contemplating against these lizards. It their lungs must suck in enormous quantities of air to fuel their blood during battles, that may be another vulnerability we can exploit. If their very physiology drives them to breathe so deeply, and we render the air unbreathable, this may also pose a way to defeat them."

Fael all but scoffed. "Turn the very air to poison, is that what you're suggesting?"

"I am. And these weapons too I posses - already proven effective in battle."

All traces of ridicule left Fael as squirrel and badger regarded each other with level gazes. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Lord."

"It is my intent that that never happens, Majesty. When our final agreement is eventually reached - and I remain confident you will ultimately side with me over Tratton in such arrangements - I'm sure you will find it much to your benefit. The friendship of Salamandastron is a thing to be valued these days."

"I know a certain Redwall squirrel who might beg to differ. So, how do you plan to proceed?'

"When I have finished here, I will think on the matter, and decide how I may best aid you with this problem. I may wish to consult with your craftsbeasts and materials requisitioners to discuss what might be done to realize my proposed sunlight-focusing weapon, and bring in help from elsewhere in Southsward if needed. If we determine such a weapons system would prove unfeasible even with the combined talents and resources of Floret and the surrounding countryside, then I will abandon it in favor of my alternate plan. And for that, I will need to communicate extensively with my forces at Salamandastron to coordinate logistics, so I trust you have been accommodating Captain Klystra well, since I will be relying heavily on both him and my gulls."

"That featherbag of yours is being given plenty of his own space up on the roof, and seems quite content seeing to his own needs. Positively terrifying my peacocks, though. It's a wonder all their glorious plumage hasn't fallen out through sheer fright."

"In that case they will never want to meet the supreme commander of my avian forces. Commodore Altidor is twice Captain Klystra's size, and three times as formidable."

"Then please make sure you keep that winged brute from from Floret. Tailless peacocks are nothing pretty to behold."

"I trust Viceroy Korba has already been allowed to communicate with his forces awaiting him off the coast?"

"He got a messenger off earlier, with some Bluesnake otter volunteers to escort him to the coast and make sure he gets there all right, and causes no trouble along the way. Why did you not just ask your rat friends yourself?"

"The Viceroy has made a point of avoiding me ever since his release, as I'm sure you are only too well aware yourself, and I suspect it is not only because he seeks to hide his own plans from me as to how he intends to deal with your 'dragon' situation."

"Well, you do have such a winning way with beasts, Lord. He was no doubt fretful of being overwhelmed by your abundant charm."

"And what will you do if Korba's messenger relates to the captains of those two waiting warships how his expedition has been treated at Floret?"

'Absolutely nothing that I wouldn't have done anyway, and why would I? They might be captains, but he outranks them, so they can only do what he tells them to. And since he obviously still seeks to salvage his diplomatic mission any way he can, he'll overlook his treatment at my paws thus far and grasp at whatever remaining straws he can to win an alliance with me. Of course, he has two paws with which to do his grasping, which rather puts him ahead of you, doesn't it?"

"Like Tratton, I have many willing paws to carry out my bidding. Unlike him, I have multiple weapons and tactics to draw upon, and more than one species serving me. Tratton has one trick - his stormpowder - and while it is a formidable weapon, it does have its limits, and is not equally effective in all situations. I have doubts as to how effectively he can bring it to bear against the enemy you face now. I suspect my own strategies and methods will prove far more fruitful, and yield the kind of results you seek."

Fael regarded the dissected lizard corpse with distaste. "After the mess you've made of things here, I should certainly hope so. You and your rat challengers are both full of words assuring victory, but words won't slay fast dragons. Show me what you can do - bring me piles of dead lizards to stuff and exhibit, along with perhaps a few living prisoners to replace the one you've cost me here - and then we'll see which of you wins your alliance with Southsward!"

 **FOXGUARD**

"Jaffox did it. I know he did."

Tolar and Mona stood alone in the vixen's surgery, Sapakit's body laid out on the table usually reserved for experimental post-mortems on less distinguished beasts. Mona had completed her examination of the corpse, showing far more restraint and respect than with most of her subjects, leaving the deceased swordfox far more intact than the reptile their badger master currently studied in Southsward.

"I'm sure you're right," she agreed, "but I have no way to prove it with anything I've found here. The dent in his skull could have been caused by a club, or by hitting his head on the side of the barge as he fell overboard."

"Was there any water in his lungs?"

Mona smiled forlornly at her mate. "Nice to see you've picked up a little of my lore from me. No, there wasn't. That was one of the first things I checked."

"So he didn't drown. He was already dead when he went in the water. That proves he was murdered."

"Not necessarily. He could still have hit his head falling over the side, or somehow suffered that head wound some other way after he was in the water, before he'd had a chance to drown. What evidence did you uncover at the scene?"

Tolar gave a frustrated sigh. "We did find such traces on the side of the raft - a spot of blood stains, with bits of matted fur and flesh. This may have been a murder, but the culprit took care to make it look like an accident … and we know whose hallmark _that_ is."

Mona nodded grimly. "Yes. We know."

"And Sapp didn't drink. That's what stinks about this more than anything."

"Except on this occasion he did. All the sentries and lookouts agree that he left Foxguard of his own volition, following after that vixen with the wine jug in his paw, clearly intent on making use of it, if he hadn't already. And I did detect wine on his tongue, that much was evident, even after his time in the canal. All eyewitness accounts support the vixen's assertion that the two of them went out to the rafts by mutual consent, to … enjoy an evening on the water."

"Even that doesn't sound right. That's not the way Sapp would act."

"Not the Sappakit we always saw. But throw a willing, amorous vixen into the mix … " Mona shrugged. "We knew he'd yearned for one for the longest time. And that he took his time choosing one from the valley horde he felt sure he could trust; Sapp would have been very careful in that regard. Maybe, once he had what he wanted, he became inclined to behave more like an infatuated kit than we might have thought possible for him, since we only ever saw the professional soldier side of him."

"Or maybe he didn't pick his partner carefully enough after all. Maybe he was led on, led astray, talked into things he never would have done on his own."

"Like drinking."

"Yes. Like drinking."

"You've interviewed the vixen?"

"Thoroughly. She insists her motives were entirely based on harmless affection, and seeking to attach herself to a high-ranking veteran of the brigade for purposes of prestige, so why would she have wished Sapp any harm? She also maintains she slept soundly through the entire thing, whatever happened, and didn't even realize he was gone until I woke her - something I find very hard to credit. Who sleeps through a violent incident like that, be it accident or murder?"

"Unless she was drugged." Mona's gaze went to the emptied wine jug sitting on a small side table of her surgery.

"Why would she drug herself? Sapp I could understand, but herself too?"

"Maybe she knew the only way she could get Sappakit to drink it would be for her to drink it herself. Or maybe she didn't even know the wine was drugged."

Tolar shook his head. "No. That wine was from our own stocks, guarded by weasels and swordfoxes, and we've been watching all the vixens - and Jaffox's crew too - far too closely for any of them to have gotten to it. If anything was added to it, it would have to have been after Sapp brought it up to his quarters, and she had access to it. Something she brought in with her from the outside … " Tolar's gaze went to the jug. "Are there any tests you can perform to see if the wine was adulterated in any way?"

"Not easily, not with what I was left to work with. Sappakit and his raftmate certainly did enjoy their wine during their time together; there's only dregs left, mere drops. Hardly enough to perform any kind of meaningful analysis. I'll try, but don't get your hopes up."

"I'd have thought, with your skills, poisons would be easy to detect."

"Poisons, yes, although some of those are more subtle than others. But this wouldn't be a poison at all. A soporific, even a fairly powerful one which would send a gown beast into deep slumber, would be much harder to detect. And if this one was was mild enough to be masked by the taste of the wine so that Sappakit failed to notice it, it might be far more nuanced than anything I'd be able to discover."

"Except that Sapp didn't normally drink wine. So he wouldn't have even realized if the flavor was a bit off."

"I gave that jug a good sniff, and even put a drop or two on my tongue to taste it for myself, and - "

"Are you sure that was wise?" Tolar cut in, concerned.

Mona scowled. "Tolar, we're talking about sleeping potions here, not poisons. Sapp didn't die of poisoning, and the vixen seems fine, and they both drank the wine, so there's nothing dangerous about it. But, I'm not entirely sure a sleeping potion is what we should be looking for here."

"No?"

"No, I think we might be looking more at a … love potion, for want of a better term. A potent mood-arouser which would inflame their passions, and ensure that Sappakit wouldn't spurn her. Such a concoction would mix well with the wine, be almost undetectable, and might even have had an innocent motivation behind it, the vixen simply not caring to risk rejection by the swordfox she sought to woo."

Tolar glared at Sappakit's remains. "There was nothing innocent about what happened to my old friend."

"No. No, there wasn't. But suspecting it and proving it are two different things. This vixen may not have been in the know at all, even if she did drug Sappakit, making her a victim in all of this too. I mean, you found her right at the scene, and you said she seemed genuinely shocked at the discovery of the body … "

"Which might only mean she's a very good actor … although her scream sounded genuine enough. Her presence there proves nothing, since she knew others had seen her out there with Sapp, and fleeing the scene would gain her naught, and only cast suspicion on her. She still knew to lure him out to the canal, where she knew they'd be alone - "

"Didn't the shrews say Sappakit was the one who ordered them away?"

"Yes, but she had to know that's exactly what he would do, to grant them their privacy. His blood's on her paws no matter which way you slice it, whether she brandished the club herself or not. She was a part of this, even if that part was only to distract him and string him along and draw him out to where Jaffox wanted him to be. And I don't buy for one moment that she slept through the whole thing. A murder, mere paces away, and she expects us to believe she slept through it?"

"She could have, Tolar. The effects of the drug … "

"I thought you said it wasn't a sleeping potion?"

"Even if it was a concoction to bolster their romantic drives and not a sleep draught specifically, it still could have had the same effect, leaving them drained and exhausted as well as pleasantly content - a combination encouraging of deep and undisturbed slumber. It may even be that the murderers came upon Sappakit when he was asleep himself, and did the deed without either of them ever awakening."

Tolar's paws clenched and unclenched at his sides. "That would be just like those cowards … not even giving him a fighting chance, catching him without his sword, without even the clothes on his back … that's no way for any of our brigade to go, especially not one of the First Twenty."

"Were there no other witnesses at all?"

Tolar shook his head. "The shrews knew enough to give Sapp his requested privacy until he told them otherwise, straight through 'til morning if that's what he wanted. It's not like anybeast was likely to require ferry services in the dead of night, and if such need did arise, the shrews were counting on Sapp to interrupt his nocturnal activities to come and fetch them. This couldn't have been planned and executed better - no witnesses, no evidence … "

"What about pawprints on the canal bank? Can't we tell from that whether anybeast else had been there?"

"Of course there were pawprints - way too many. That's an active area. Shrew prints, fox prints, weasel prints, squirrel prints - even some otter prints left over from their last trading visit. Jaffox himself could have been there to do the deed with his own paws - and knowing him, he probably was - and we'd have no way to prove it. That fox is good at hiding his tracks, in whatever form they happen to be."

"If the vixen did slip something into the wine, there'd have to be some physical evidence beside the wine itself. A vial, a pouch, a packet - something she brought into Foxguard with her."

Again, Tolar shook his head. "We searched her clothes out on the raft, and went over Sappakit's quarters with a fine-toothed comb, top to bottom. If she had anything like that on her, my guess is it's at the bottom of the canal by now, and maybe even washed out into the Moss and downriver partway to the coast."

Swordfox and healer vixen stood in silence for some time after that. At length Mona said, "So, what do we do now?"

"Now I interrogate this Vermilya the way nobeast at Foxguard has ever been interrogated before. She's the only one we can definitely place at the scene, so we'll start with her and work our way out, all the way to Jaffox if we can. She knows more than she's admitted, even if she wasn't in on the whole thing, and I'll turn the screws on her until she talks."

"And if it turns out she knows nothing - or nothing that directly implicates Jaffox?"

"Then I'll follow the threads as far as they go. Potions, whether for sleeping or for romance, don't brew themselves. If we can't get Jaffox on this, maybe we can at least get Joska, and deprive him of his chief ally … just like he deprived me of one of mine." Tolar regarded the sad, still, lifeless form of his formerly vital and wise second-in-command. "He's trying to take out my support base, Mona. He's trying to weaken me. This is about more than what happened with Belsis, about more than payback for his humiliation. If he's dared to do this, it won't be long before he moves against me directly, and tries to take Foxguard for his own. Everything he's done since his arrival in Mossflower suggests that as his ultimate aim: bringing in that valley horde and bonding it to his command so that he'd have a small army of his own outside our control; infiltrating his vixens among us in the guise of satisfying the brigade's longstanding desires in this area; and cozying up to Custis so that when it comes to blows, the Gawtrybe will be on his side and accept him as Foxguard's new leader. And without knowing whether Jaffox actually has secret orders from Lord Urthblood to replace me, I'm not even sure how much I _should_ oppose him."

"Murdering Sappakit could not possibly have been anything Lord Urthblood intended or imagined. Jaffox is out of control, if he really did do this, and such an act on his part surely negates whatever orders he might have regarding Foxguard and renders him unfit to hold any position of authority at this fortress whatsoever. That much should be clear to everybeast, and I very much doubt His Lordship would gainsay you on any action you took against Jaffox as a result of this."

"Except that that badger is all the way down in Southsward now, with no clear lines of communication between him and us for the foreseeable future, leaving us in the dark and guessing about a great many things. I suspect that very news may have emboldened Jaffox to move now as he did. And perhaps … perhaps Lord Urthblood timed events this way to give Jaffox free rein, to wash his own paw of the matter and let the issue of Foxguard's leadership sort itself out in its own way - me against Jaffox, and may the more able fox emerge on top."

"That would only reward the greater treachery, at the expense of a truly loyal commander. I cannot see Lord Urthblood allowing such a thing, much less encouraging it. Nobeast who could would deserve the loyalty of a faithful Sword like you. He simply would not."

Tolar remained dubious. "This resettlement campaign - this _Purge_ \- is very important to him. Maybe more important than we realized. Maybe I was foolish to express any reservations about it at all. Maybe he would not allow even a loyal captain to stand in the way of this, or risk lack of compliance from any quarter. And maybe Jaffox is his way of telling me I overstepped my bounds in the one area where I must not."

"If he deems this a just way to settle affairs here, then I would say it's he who's overstepped his bounds, not you."

Tolar shot her a cautionary glance. "Have a care there, Mona. This is Lord Urthblood we're talking about here."

"Then if our wise and fated Lord finds such fault with your stewardship of Foxguard, let him come here to address your shortcomings himself, or at least communicate more clearly and forthrightly what you have done to displease him so, and how he expects you to rectify the situation. Until he has the decency to do so, and to do more than leave you blindly guessing as to his motivations and aims, Foxguard is yours. _Yours_. And that means the problem of Jaffox is yours to solve as you see fit … by whatever means necessary."

"But, the orders … "

"We may well have a murderer in our midst. Does the Sword of Foxguard allow a murderer in his midst?"

Tolar's resolve returned at this, his eyes taking in Sappakit's body on the table. "Yes, we may. And no, I do not. Although I shall have to think long and hard about what my next move shall be, unless Vermilya makes things easy by serving up Jaffox on a silver platter. Otherwise, I'll need to pick my actions most carefully. Jaffox would be a dangerous adversary, and if he sniffs that I might be planning to move against him … "

"Like he moved against you?" Mona gestured at the examination table. "Like he moved against Sappakit? If this whole thing escalates to open bloodshed, remember that Jaffox started it … and you must be prepared to end it, to your advantage, by whatever means necessary."

"We'll see what that vixen says when I interrogate her, and then decide on my next step based on that. But first, I have a treasured comrade to lay to rest."


	44. Chapter XLIII

**XLIII.**

 **THE DOLDRUMS**

"Get ready, it's almost time. They'll be here soon!"

When Latura issued this alert on the sixth morning of their laying in the Doldrums west of Terramort, Cordato and Tropsa and the rest of the _Redfoam_ 's rebel slave crew snapped to attention as if the simple ratmaid were the captain of them all. And while many sprang into action, after a fashion, it was a very haphazard and scattershot kind of action, with rats rushing about this way and that without any clear idea of precisely what they should be doing. All they knew was that the event they'd awaited must now be upon them, and that this day they would most likely see battle … although what manner of battle it would be, and against how many of the enemy, and what strategy they must pursue to have any chance of prevailing, all that remained frustratingly unclear.

"Can'tcha tell us more, Lattie?" Cordato implored. "What should we be preparin' fer, how we oughta be gettin' ready … "

"I'll know when I see 'em." Latura gazed absently up at the crow's nest and the high rigging. "Hey, c'n I go up there? Bet it's a great view!"

Potdar, standing as always near the two competing captains - "Cap'n Cap'n" and "Other Cap'n," as Latura had started referring to Cordato and Tropsa - scoffed at this harder than anyrat, having had the greater opportunity to see firstpaw how fumble-footed and clumsy she could be. "Pah! If you go up there, ye'll slip an' fall, smashin' yer brains open on th' deck or splashin' into th' brine!"

Latura shot him the best defiant look of which she was capable. "Naw, I don't."

Cordato alone caught the ratmaid's use of "don't" instead of "won't," and realized Latura's prophetic awareness had once more made itself known. "Sure, Lattie, up y' go. An' call out loud an' strong when - "

"Sails!" Trovato yelled down from the crow's nest, interrupting his captain in mid-sentence. "We got sails on th' horizon! Red, black an' green!"

"Ooo, lemme see, lemme see!" Latura shot off toward the nearest riggings and commenced climbing them with reckless abandon, causing any number of her fellow rats looking on to quail and turn their heads from the incipient disaster sure to result. But Cordato's instincts proved true, and the ratmaid reached the topmast without incident, digging into the ropes there with all four claws and hanging in the wind alongside the crow's nest with carefree enthusiasm while the lookout Trovato merely gaped at her.

Tropsa surveyed their patchwork crew of half searats and half land rats, nearly all assembled and armed on deck and anxiously awaiting what would come next. "Urg - guess we're as ready as we can be. Be nice t' know how exactly this's gonna play out, an' what we should be gettin' ready fer, how we're gonna meet these butchers … "

"Won't be them doin' most of the butcherin' today, if I can help it," replied Cordato. "Lattie sez she'll know when she sees 'em, so let's let 'er have a good look fer herself, an' then see what she's got t' say … "

Four vessels approached the _Redfoam_ that morning, led by the frigate _Gullslayer_. Her captain, one Gorbatuk by name, presided over his ship with some well-hidden misgivings over the double-edged sword that his frigate's moniker had become in recent seasons. " _Gullslayer_ " had meant one thing when the craft had been built and launched, an almost playful allusion to a favored pastime of searats of all stripes and ranks, for sport as well as for food. Now, with the winged warriors viewed as formidable foes rather than mere prey and game thanks to Urthblood, every rat aboard - and most others throughout the Empire - must have fervently wished that the _Gullslayer_ might someday live up to her name and become just that. Perhaps this test cruise for Clucus's newest superweapon might help turn that dream into a reality; only time would tell.

But for now, superstition still ran deep in searat culture, such as it could even be called culture, and much of Gorbatuk's crew uneasily accepted that their ship's name might carry ill omen with it, drawing down upon them the willing or karmic wrath of the prey now turned predator, incensed that any vessel of their adversary would so blatantly proclaim herself an unabashed killer of their species. Now that they could fight back, and send ships to their fiery, watery graves, the name _Gullslayer_ no longer seemed such a harmless reference to a harmless custom of hunting a harmless category of defenseless creature.

It was for this reason that even Tratton himself had acceded to Gorbatuk's request that the _Gullslayer_ be kept to open-sea routes which would keep her far from the coasts, and far from Urthblood's firebomb-armed birds. Out here, hopefully, he and his crew would be safely beyond the range of those dreaded winger bombardiers … not that this prevented much of the crew from casting nervous glances skyward every time gulls appeared overhead.

Now Gorbatuk and his first mate Sherbatuk - who also happened to be his half-brother - stood at the prow regarding the unexpected sight of the galleon laying in the Doldrums ahead of them. Lowering his long glass, the captain drawled, "If I'm readin' that right, she's th' _Redfoam_. Spymaster Uroza made no mention o' any other ship that'd be waitin' out here t' meet us, so Trangle musta come this way on 'is own, an' us meetin' here must just be coincerdence."

"But, looks like they're becalmed," Sherbatuk pointed out. "Why an' how would any cap'n of th' Fleet allow 'imself t' get caught like that?"

Gorbatuk pondered the matter for some moments, then grinned. "Bet I know what 'appened. Trangle musta just come from Talaga, droppin' his slaves off there jus' like we been ordered t' do, an' he was so used t' havin' them in his galley providin' oar power, he blundered right inta these Doldrums without realizin' how stuck he'd be here without 'em!"

Sherbatuk screwed up his face. "I dunno. Still seems t' me he'd know to avoid this spot - 'tis marked clear on all our maps, an' ev'ry cap'n knows about it. An' even so, why hasn't he just had some o' his crew take the oars t' row 'em free? Must have plenny o' rats on board that he'd be able t' do that."

"Who knows? Could be Uroza did get word out ahead o' us fer Trangle t' meet us here, tho' how even that Spymaster coulda pulled that off I can't figger. Woulda been nice if he'd told us, wouldn't it?" Gorbatuk shrugged. "We got a fleetrunner with us, with one o' Uroza's spyrats aboard, so I'll leave it up to her t' get it worked out. We got a whole galley full o' slaves of our own t' deal with now, so let's get to it!"

The four searat ships had come into the Doldrums under sail, the targeting trader vessel the _Oyster Princess_ helped along by the slaves down in the seized woodlander craft's rowing galley. Now that this miniature fleet had reached the site for this weapon trial, all those woodland rats would have to be unchained from their oar stations and transferred over to the _Gullslayer._ Tempted as Gorbatuk was to simply have Clucus fire his new super-crossbow upon a fully-staffed Oyster Princess and send both the ship and her hold of rowers to the bottom of the sea, those slaves would be necessary to deliver both the _Gullslayer_ and the _Seabolt_ out of these becalmed waters. The fleetrunner, Gorbatuk didn't care about; he and his crew would have been just as happy to leave that spycraft behind to fend for herself. _Fleetrunner Eleven_ was small enough that Uroza's rats aboard her could row themselves out of these Doldrums on their own.

Then there was also the fact that those slaves were to be delivered to Talaga upon completion of these trials - and what _that_ was all about, Gorbatuk had no idea.

The skeleton crew aboard the _Oyster Princess_ had the slave rowers bring her abreast of the _Gullslayer_ until the two vessels lightly clunked hulls and the doomed trader ship could be tied up to the much larger frigate. Once all the slaves were unchained and offloaded onto the warship, Gorbatuk would row clear of the _Oyster Princess_ to give Clucus a clear shot at her, or several clear shots, depending on how things went. For now, the ferret and Captain Marbert lay off at a medium distance, close enough and positioned to fire at the target ship once the _Gullslayer_ no longer blocked the crossbow boat from an unimpeded shot at her intended victim.

While all this was going on, _Fleetrunner Eleven_ fulfilled Gorbatuk's prognostication and nosed forward under oar power toward the _Redfoam_ , to investigate why that galleon was here of all places on the boundless waves …

Cordato and Tropsa and the rest of the searats aboard the _Redfoam_ stood regarding this four-vessel mini-fleet with as much intrigued curiosity as alarm, the two vying captains swapping the long glass back and forth between them for closer looks. Frigate and fleetrunner failed to elicit much surprise, both being standard configurations in the Royal Fleet; the _Oyster Princess_ raised some eyebrows, since a trader vessel - even a captured one - sailing in the company of the others out in these waters presented a puzzlement. But most puzzling and perplexing of all was the second trader vessel, or what had at one time presumably been a trader vessel; what it was now defied any easy description, bearing upon her wide middle topdeck an immense turntable so massive that it overhung the port and starboard railings. As for the device mounted atop that moveable circular plate, the onlooking rebels harbored vague suspicions of what they beheld, even if the audacity of such a construct prevented them from fully believing what they were seeing.

Latura by this time had descended from the high riggings to rejoin the others on the deck. Cordato turned to face her now. "Okay, Lattie, we got a frigate that's near twice our size, an' a woodlander ship that's no doubt got more o' Tratton's fighters on 'er, an' a fleetrunner bearin' down on us now with more o' yer 'dark rats' who're trained assassins. An' unless I send most of us down t' take up oars, we're stuck dead in th' water! What're we s'posed t' do now? How're we s'posed t' overcome four ships at once?"

"S'all right. I know what we gotta do now. Figgered it out when I was on th' ropes."

Cordato and Tropsa stared at her expectantly, then realized she wasn't about to share her solution with them unless prompted further. " _Well_ …?"

"Oh. Yeah. Right." She pointed over the railing toward the _Seabolt_. "There's th' shipkiller. That's what we gotta take."

"Just take it?" Cordato scoffed. "Just like that?"

"Ayup. Ain't many aboard - Maskface, an' Cap'n Cap'n, an' a few o' his nasty meanrats. It'll be a fight, but we c'n take it. Gotta take it, or else."

Tropsa brightened somewhat at this announcement. "If Clucus is aboard that floatin' contrapshun, that'll be a fight worth fightin'!"

"That's all well 'n' good," said Cordato, "but even if we do succeed in capturin' that confounded thing, what about th' _Gullslayer_?"

"Won't matter, once we got th' shipkiller."

"Won't matter? Lattie, that boat's got twice th' seaborne army aboard 'er than th' _Redfoam_ had 'fore th' sickness hit. We'd be overwhelmed an' massacred … an' that's assumin' they even try 'n' board us, an' don't jus' take us out with their catapults instead. What do we do about her?"

Latura turned an innocent, wide-eyed gaze Cordato's way. "We kill 'er."

"Kill 'er?"

"Once we got th' shipkiller, we c'n kill ships. Whole point, ain't it?"

Tropsa nodded, running a paw across his pursed lips. "Yah, we'll hafta get across to her in order t' capture her, which means they'll see us comin', so we'll not have any element o' surprise on our side. Then again, if crew's small as Lattie sez, we should still be able t' pull it off, with just a few casualties on our side. Um, don't reckon we'd be able t' use th' stormpowder in our raid?"

Latura shook her head vigorously. "Nopenopenopenopenope. Can't risk hurtin' th' shipkiller. Lose that, we all die, right here, today. No t'morrow fer any o' us, outside this spot."

"S'all well an' good, friends, but we got more immediate concerns." Cordato pointed out toward the spycraft, which had closed half the distance between the _Redfoam_ and the other three vessels. "That fleetrunner'll be here 'fore anything else, an' her commander'll be ready t' murder at th' first sign o' sumpthin' not being right. An' we ain't even got another hat an' dress coat so one of us can try'n pass ourselves off as Trangle from a distance. How're we gonna play _that_ one out?"

"We don't let 'em board," replied Tropsa. "Simple as that. It'd be too dangerous."

But Latura shook her head again. "Can't deny 'em, can't turn 'em away, that'd make 'em wary. Surspeeshush. They'd go back an' tell the others, might start fightin' us 'fore we c'n grab th' shipkiller, then we lose. Lose ev'rything."

"So, ye're sayin' we just invite 'im on up?" Tropsa challenged.

"Ayup! 'Fraid we're gonna hafta murder 'im, tho'."

"Murder one of Uroza's spyrats?" Cordato replied, half-incredulous.

"Well sure. Ain't like we never slew darkrats afore."

"Yah, there is that." Cordato scratched at his jaw in contemplation. "But even if th' chief spy comes up first, he'll still have other cronies down in 'is fleetrunner, an' they'll get, ah, suspicious if he's gone too long, or if we try'n take off 'fore he rejoins 'em. Mebbe we should light up one o' our stormpowder casks an' drop it down on 'em? Reduce that spyboat t' splinters … "

"Don't be daft!" Tropsa spat. "Settin' off a powderkeg right on top of our own hull, it's as like t' sink us as anything! An' if we're tryin' not to attract th' wrong kinda attention from that frigate, that'd be a great way t' do just that an' get us all kill't!"

"Don' wanna be kill't," Latura seconded with vacuous affirmation. "Gotta take liddlefastboat fer ourselves. Go down, get rid o' th' crew, take it fer our own. Ev'ryrat else's afraid o' th' darkrats. Once we got liddlefastboat sailin' with us, unner our command, no other ship'll stop 'n' bother us."

"Well, that's true enuff," Cordato grunted. "But first we gotta seize 'er. Killin' th' first one or two who come aboard th' _Redfoam_ will be the easy part; it's cleanin' out th' rest o' th' crew from that spyship that'll get real tricky. Even if they ain't also spyrats o' Uroza's themselves, you c'n be sure they'll be paw-picked, trusted deckpaws fit t' serve such sensertive duty. We might lose fighters of our own just doin' that, long 'fore we even move on that shipkiller o' yers. Fighters we can't afford t' lose."

"Then we'll get others," Latura stated simply.

"Others? From where?"

"From there." Latura pointed toward the _Oyster Princess_ , even now slowly maneuvering to draw up alongside the _Gullslayer_ , and apparently the only one of the four searat vessels aside from the fleetrunner to have a rowing crew sufficient to move it about in these Doldrums. "Whole hold full o' slaverats on that 'un. Gotta try'n save some o' them. Then we'll have plenny o' crew t' run _Redfoamy_ , an' shipkiller, an' liddlefastboat too."

"Well, that's … sumpthin'," Cordato muttered, slightly agog at Latura's simply-presented vision of their ragtag rebel band assembling a fleet of its own.

"So, lemme see if I got this all straight," Tropsa said in sarcastic fashion. "First, we allow a trained assassin spyrat t' set claw on th' _Redfoam_ , an' we jus' kill 'im, easy as y' please? Then we climb down inta his fleetrunner an' kill 'is fellow spies, also easy as y' please? An' do it all without attractin' that frigate's attention … after which we send whoever survives all that down t' pick up oars so's we c'n cross over to that shipkiller monstrosity an' seize it fer ourselves too? An' then use it t' fight off a fully-staffed warship that's twice our size an' likely carryin' four times as many rats? An' once we've done all _that_ , we go an' free all th' slaves who're aboard that old run-down trader vessel, which we don't even know why that's here t'all - "

"Sure we do," Latura interrupted. "Maskface was gonna shoot at it. We take th' shipkiller, we shoot at big mean ship 'stead."

Tropsa blinked, coming to slightly more terms of how the ratmaid envisioned this entire scenario unfolding, but only slightly. "So, that's _all_ we gotta do. Have I got that right?"

"Ayup," Latura affirmed with a nod. "Simple as that."

"They'll never give us time," Cordato worried. "It's all gonna take too long … "

"We got time. Bigship's Cap'n Cap'n's still gotta free all 'is slaves from th' one boat t' move 'em to his. That'll take time. Time 'nuff t' grab liddlefastboat an' get across to th' shipkiller. Be close, but we c'n do it."

"Wait - are you sayin' we go across in the fleetrunner, after we capture it?"

"Um, yeah, guess we could do that too … "

Cordato stroked at his whiskers in thought. "That … might jus' work. Fleetrunner's small, only four oar ports, so it'd only take four of us t' staff it, or mebbe eight, as opposed to havin' to shift this entire galleon over that way … an' it'd cover th' distance faster too … an' if th' shipkiller's crew don't spot us takin' over that spyboat, they'd still assume she's under Uroza's control, an' let us get as close as we want without questionin', an' mebbe even invite us aboard, 'fore they realize we ain't spyrats, an' by then it'll be too late fer 'em … Lattie, ye're a genius!"

"I am? Oh, yay me!"

Tropsa remained less than fully enamored of this convoluted and chancy strategy. "So, who's gonna command this boardin' party?"

"You can, if y' want. Oughta be one of us, or somerat else we c'n trust t' get it right. But th' war party should be mostly searats, who c'n take control of Lattie's shipkiller stem t' stern an' know seagoin' vessels inside an' out. First, though, we gotta concentrate on seizin' that fleetrunner without losin' too many of our own t' get it, an' that's gonna be a tough one."

"Oh! Oh! Ohohoh! I jus' a'membered!" Latura turned and raced for the companionway leading belowdecks, disappearing down the stairs into the heart of the _Redfoam_. This left Cordato and Tropsa and Potdar standing staring at each other.

"What was _that_ about now?" Tropsa wondered in frustrated befuddlement.

"Dunno," said Potdar, "but when Lattie starts racin' 'round like that, usually sumpthin' to it."

Cordato's gaze went back to the fleetrunner, now most of the way to the _Redfoam_. "Whatever it is, I hope it's sumpthin' that can help us, 'cos we're gonna need all th' help we c'n get if we're gonna pull off this scheme o' hers!"


	45. Chapter XLIV

**XLIV.**

 **THE DOLDRUMS**

Mortara prided herself in being one of the few openly-serving females in the spyrat bureau. Certainly, Uroza had many in his employ, from prepubescent waifs to old crones, but the vast majority of those served as informants and liaisons and runners, their association with the Spymaster kept carefully hidden, like so much else about that feared, shadowy agency. That was how Mortara had gotten her start, to be sure, but early in her career she proved herself as adept at assassination and intimidation and physical ability as any of her male counterparts, and thus did Uroza reward her with promotion to open service.

Even if that meant piloting one of the growing number of fleetrunners in King Tratton's navy, at least she captained her own ship, however small - an exception among female searats, in Uroza's service or otherwise.

Mortara harbored mixed feelings about this present assignment. On the one paw, it amounted to little more than glorified escort duty, and escort duty not nearly as prestigious as accompanying the King to Salamandastron aboard the _Darktide_ , as Jagtar and Rotax had been fortunate enough to do. Then again, Uroza himself had appointed her to this mission, and it did entail the test of a new weapon which, if successful, would add a formidable element to the searat arsenal, and that would surely elevate her status as well.

If it was unsuccessful, however, or if something else went wrong …

The _Redfoam_ was not supposed to be here. The appearance of that galleon on the horizon as their four-craft fleet approached the Doldrums rankled Mortara, even if it didn't exactly fill her with misgivings. As Gorbatuk had done as well, she assumed Trangle had merely grown careless and blundered into these becalmed seas after dropping off his slaves at Talaga. But an errant captain's stupidity was not her concern, and Trangle's dreadful lack of foresight or even basic nautical astuteness had added a factor to these proceedings she had not counted on - a factor she would now be forced to investigate. Thus, as the other ships of her convoy positioned themselves for the weapons test, she gave orders for the eight rowers staffing _Fleetrunner Eleven_ to bear them to the stationary _Redfoam_ to check into the state of affairs aboard the galleon.

Maybe, if she could determine Trangle's dereliction and incompetence to be sufficiently egregious, there'd be an execution out of all of this. That would look good on her resume: taking down a captain of the Fleet for gross negligence casting dishonor upon his rank and command.

At length - greater length than Mortara would have liked - _Fleetrunner Eleven_ nosed up to the hull of the _Redfoam_ amidships, and the spyrat's first mate and pilot Taucras tied up to the netting that trailed down the galleon's side. Many of the larger ship's crew lined the starboard railing looking down at the small messenger craft, but nowhere was Trangle's distinctive tricorn hat to be seen. Sleeping off a grog binge, Mortara snidely speculated, or just lounging in his bunk and leaving his crew to run things in his stead. Still, it was odd that norat had thought to rouse him at the first sight of the approaching ships, since it seemed readily apparent that the _Redfoam_ would need help escaping this windless, sluggish patch of ocean.

All the galleon's oars looked to be shipped, and Mortara inwardly scoffed at the sight. Weren't those idiots at least making an _attempt_ to deliver themselves from their predicament? Even if they had dropped off all their slaves at Talaga, they should still have plenty of able-bodied crew to take up the oars and row them free from the Doldrums.

One of the rats above called down, "Ahoy, an' welcome to th' _Redfoam_! Will ye be boardin'?"

"That I will," Mortara shouted up. "Where's Captain Trangle?"

"Got a sickness aboard. 'Ee's laid up."

"What about First Mate Laverty?"

"Laid up too. Sickness hit us real 'ard. Sure y' wanna come up?"

Taucras came across to stand alongside Mortara; they were the only two rats on the fleetrunner's cramped top deck, the other eight crew members down at the oars. "Well, that explains why they got stuck here," he muttered to his female superior. "No more slaves, an' much of the crew laid low by illness. Maybe we should untie and shove off, an' leave them be?"

Mortara shook her head, ever so slightly. "I know how to cure anything I'm likely to catch, probably better than their own doctor does. I've got to see the conditions on board, even if it's just to observe them firstpaw for a later report to Spymaster Uroza. This is a ship of the Fleet, after all."

"Should I go up with you, Mistress?"

"No. Hold down here, and I'll call for you if I need you. Once I've assessed the situation, I expect to return quickly. Then we can be back to the others, and return our attention to the main mission."

"Aye aye. I'll keep the rest of the crew at the oars, then."

Making sure her daggers were all in place, Mortara dug in her claws and ascended the boarding net up to the top deck. No paws were extended to help her over the railing, every crewrat on the _Redfoam_ standing well back to give her room to attain the main deck on her own. The spyrat thought nothing amiss about this; the way Uroza's agents were regarded throughout the Searat Empire, she knew not to expect a warm welcome here, especially with both captain and first mate taken out of commission and unable to organize a proper muster to receive her. Which did leave her wondering just who was in charge here, but no matter. She would overlook their lack of requisite respect - this time.

Straightening on the main deck, Mortara found herself surrounded by a wide circle of armed crewrats, regarding her suspiciously as they kept their distance. Again, not surprising, given the reputation of her station. Her trained eye picked out one in particular who struck her as exhibiting the air and stance of authority, the others glancing toward him for their cues. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, although she couldn't be expected to recognize every lower officer of the Fleet along with the senior commanders. "The boson, I assume," she addressed him, "since Captain Trangle and First Mate Laverty are laid abed?"

"Actually," the lead crewrat replied, "he caught it too. Just us grunts runnin' things now."

Cries of warning sounded silently in Mortara's head. This rat was not acting like a subservient underling cowed and intimidated by her, when by all rights he ought to be. Outnumbered and outarmed, she was suddenly thinking very hard about her next move.

"Um, pardon us, marm," said a second searat standing alongside the leader, who exuded an air of competing authority all his own, "but we wasn't expectin' … well, a female."

Mortara relaxed just the slightest bit. Could that be all it was - that her gender had caught them off guard? If so, this was a matter easily rectified. She would show them that a female agent of Spymaster Uroza's was to be feared and respected every bit as much as her male cohorts.

"Take me to see Captain Trangle."

"Y' wanna see th' Cap'n?"

"That's what I said."

"He's in a bad way. Ain't speakin' much."

"He'll speak to me. Now take me to him, Mister … what was your name again?"

"Cordato."

Now the warnings sounded in Mortara's head more shrilly than ever. No, she could not remember the name and face of every lower officer in the Fleet … but she could remember the names of the more notable searats she'd helped find their way to the executioner's blade, or put in chains in rowing galleys.

The rat smiled at her, not at all pleasantly. "Or should I say, Cap'n Cordato to you."

Mortara reached for her daggers with both paws, but she wasn't as fast as Cordato; at a swiped paw signal from him, six crossbows came up, and six bolts found her. The female spyrat collapsed to the deck, multiply-transfixed, her daggers slipping from her nerveless grasp even as the life slipped from her body.

Cordato stepped forward and leaned down to the dying spyrat until they were nose-to-whiskers. "Ah, so y' did remember me at th' last, didja? Well, I remembered you … Mortara. Th' one who put me in chains, accusin' me of seditious thoughts that never even entered my mind. But, thanks to yer treachery back then, I'm feelin' more than just a liddle seditious theses days. An' when I realized just which rat it was askin' permission t' board, well, that jus' made my whole day, lemme tell ya. You weren't gettin' off this ship alive, I knew that soon as I reckergnized you. Now whaddya say t' _that_ , y' backstabbin' harridan?"

Mortara strove to rally herself for one last surprise strike at the gloating searat, but too much of her life had already left her. "You'll … die … "

"Heh. Mebbe I will. But I'll tell ya this, ya black wench: even if we're all dead by sunset, gettin' t' watch you die first makes this th' happiest day of my life!"

A cheerful call from behind them broke into the scene as Latura emerged from belowdecks bearing in her paws a large, smoldering wicker basket. "I got it, I got it!"

Cordato stood and joined the others in staring at the ratmaid. She peered around him at Motrara lying on the deck, multiple crossbow bolts protruding from her torso. "Ooo, darkrat! Um, she ain't lookin' too good, is she?" Then as Mortara's eyes rolled back in her head and she exhaled her last breath, Latura thoughtfully amended, "Dead darkrat now … "

"What's that y' got there, Lattie?" Potdar asked, crossbow still in paw.

"Smoky stinky stuff. Fer th' liddlefastboat. Paltryrat helped me make it down below. Gotta take it now, right now, 'fore it's too late."

As if on cue, a voice called up from the fleetrunner, "Hey, what's goin' on up there? Ev'rything alright?"

The rebel slaves had succeeded in luring Mortara several steps in from the railing to help hide her assassination from her crew waiting below. But it seemed Taucras had gleaned some sense of things going awry from his position on the fleetrunner's deck, and now voiced his misgivings.

"Gotta move now, 'fore it's too late," Latura reiterated.

"'Nuff said," Cordato acknowledged.

Moments later six rebels with six reloaded crossbows leaned over the ship's railing, aimed at Taucras and fired as one. The ill-fated first mate, standing open and exposed on the deck, barely had time to be surprised before keeling over and splashing into the sea, slain far more promptly than Mortara.

"Okayokayokay," Latura exclaimed, hopping around with her smoking basket. "Gotta get this down inta the liddlefastboat, smoke 'em out."

"Hey, that's good thinkin' there, Lattie," Tropsa commended, envisioning the havoc such a pungent smoke bomb would wreak on the tiny, windowless fleetrunner and her enclosed lower decks. "What's in there, anyways?"

"Ev'ry stinky thing I could find. S'all burnin' now - Paltryrat set it ablaze fer me, since I ain't no good with fire-stuff - but gotta use it quick, 'fore it all burns out."

Not wanting to leave anything to chance - and not trusting anyrat else with such an important job - Cordato himself led the small boarding party down the side of the _Redfoam_ and onto _Fleetrunner Eleven_. He arrived just in time to greet one of the small craft's crew coming up from the cramped belowdecks area to investigate the splash Taucras had made. Cordato reacted instantly and reflexively, cutting off the surprised rat's alarmed exclamation of, "Hey, you ain't allow down 'ere!" with a blade to the belly and a follow-up slash across the throat, followed immediately by a second body splashing overboard.

"Baralt! Git over 'ere with that basket, 'fore we're rushed!" Cordato barked out, then found himself crossing blades with another of the fleetrunner's crew trying to fight his way topside to repel the invaders. Aided by his elevated vantage, the rebel captain managed to slay his latest challenger and kick the body back down the stairs to discourage any immediate reinforcements from charging forth to join the fray. He stepped aside to give Baralt room to step forward and cast Latura's smoke bomb down into the craft's central companionway. The basket was by this time furiously smoldering and emitting copious vapors of a rank and eye-stinging, sinus-irritating nature, and the rebels had no doubt that those fumes would do well their work of incapacitating the remaining defenders awaiting them below.

"Stand fast, an' be ready t' cut down any more of 'em who're driven out by the smoke," Cordato warned his three companions; their quartet pretty much crowded the deck around the companionway stairs, the fleetrunner's compact dimensions disallowing any large assemblages fore or aft. "Could be we'll hafta go down an' finish th' job at close quarters, but we can't leave a one of 'em alive. Gotta take this spyship fer ourselves, total an' complete."

"Hey, think we could use this stuff on Lattie's shipkiller too?" ventured Baralt, fanning his reddened paws to cool the slight blisters raised by bearing the stinkbomb. "Crew over there'd be a lot easier t' fight too if we could knock 'em all out 'fore they knew what hit 'em."

Cordato glanced across at the _Seabolt_ and shook his head. "Naw - too big, an' diff'rent configgeration. 'Sides, looks like most o' her crew's topside, so they'll see us comin', an' won't be any takin' 'em by surprise - least not th' kind o' surprise ye're talkin' 'bout. But we'll give 'em a diff'rent one, when this liddle spyboat ties up to 'em an' we come out 'stead o' their spy friends!"

Up on the deck of the _Redfoam_ , Potdar turned his gaze from the fleetrunner, whose ongoing seizure had thus far gone more smoothly than they'd had any right to expect, to address Latura. "Just how'd ya figger t' whip up sumpthin' like that, Lattie?"

"Just occurred t' me we hadta have it, an' since we ain't got no Flitchy gas aboard, hadta make do with what we had."

"Flitchy gas? What's that?"

"Sumpthin' bigredbadbadger uses t' make beasts sleep. He's used it lotsa times. Not as bad as 'is yellowdeath mist, that burns 'n' kills, but I can't make aught like that."

Palter picked his meek way up onto the deck, bearing with him several limp and dripping kerchiefs, and ambled over to the main gathering by the ship's railing. "'ere y' go, Lattie - all dampened jus' like you asked. What're they for?"

"Snouts 'n' noses. Thankee, Paltryrat!" She snatched them from his feeble grasp and leaned out over the rail, calling down to Cordato. "Yoohoo! Cap'n Cap'n! Here're yer masks!" With that as her only warning, she threw the wet kerchiefs down at the raiding party, where they impacted upon Baralt's upturned face with a wet smack before careening onto the fleetrunner's boards. "Oop! Sorry!"

Cordato stooped to retrieve the cloths. "Hmm - good idea. We'll be able t' tie these over our noses an' mouths t' ward off th' worst o' them stinky fumes. That'll make our work easier. Fer a simpleton an' a dolt, Lattie's showin' some durned good tactical smarts t'day."

Baralt stood pressing his own cloth between his inflamed paws. "Ooo, that feels good! Our Lattie thinks of ev'rything, don't she? Better'n seawater!"

"Seawater'd heal ya faster 'cos o' the salt in it. Now don't get too used t' that on yer paws, Barry, 'cos ye'll need it 'round yer face fer when we go below."

Waiting a while longer for the fleetrunner's interior to become fully fumigated, the four rats finally descended to see what damage Latura's innovation had wrought, swords drawn and snouts masked. No further challengers stood to meet them, and the sounds of the coughing, hacking victims were easy to follow, allowing the raiders to hunt down and dispatch five more of the crew with no losses to their own numbers.

Cordato stood over their final kill in the cramped rowing galley, so much cleaner and neater than the much larger one aboard the _Redfoam_. Blinking away the worst lingering effects of the smoke, he made a mental count. "That's five we kill't since comin' below," he tallied aloud to his companions, "plus th' two we done in who tried t' come up an' stop us when we boarded. That makes seven." He studied the galley arrangement. "Four oars, with seats accommodatin' two rowers per oar. That'd make eight. We're missin' one, boyos, so watch yer backs. One got by us - must be in one o' the staterooms we passed."

"Mebbe t'was th' first one we shot before comin' down, who fell over th' side?" Baralt speculated.

Cordato shook his head. "Naw, that t'was another spyrat o' Uroza's - I could tell by 'is garb. Those terror rats would never lower themselves to row their own boat. They must be carryin' a support crew o' eight, an' we can't leave even one of 'em alive - that could ruin ev'rything. So let's head back th' way we came, see if we c'n find th' scoundrel an' kill 'im proper … an' then this fleetrunner'll be ours!"

The others, somewhat anxious over the prospect of hunting down a crewrat who'd possessed the presence of mind to hide himself away to lie in ambush even in all the smoky, malodorous confusion and could even now lurk crouched to spring from behind any closed door, still welcomed an exit from these cramped, tear-inducing confines, and so they all turned about to retrace their steps and see if they could locate the missing crewrat on their way out.

They found the last survivor barricaded in the second stateroom they checked. The frantic rat had used rope to tie the door closed from the inside, and the narrow companionway left no room for the rebels to batter their way in, nor could they force the door open wide enough to sever the rope with their blades. Even as they tried, they heard scraping from within, indicating the trapped quarry sought to pile furnishings up against the door to impede any entry.

"If 'ee's gonna barricade 'imself inside," Cordato growled in frustration, "then 'ee's no worry t' us. We'll post two guards in case 'ee decides t' poke 'is head out, but otherwise he ain't worth our bother now."

"What if 'ee's got one o' them flare-shooters in there with 'im?" worried a rat named Thonnard. "We'd be no match 'gainst 'im with just our blades."

"Those things only shoot one burst at a time, so even if he could get a clean shot at one o' you, the other'd be able t' cut 'im down 'fore he could reload. 'Sides, he'd be a fool t' use such a thing down 'ere, where he could set th' whole place ablaze an' risk 'imself gettin' trapped inside with no way out. But tell ya what: if you hear more scrapin' from the other side o' this door, like he's makin' ready t' come out, come fetch somerat else, an' we'll make sure 'ee doesn't make it more'n one step past the threshold!"

"Okay," Baralt said, "so what's next? Dumpin' all the crew we kill't overboard?"

"No time fer that - we wasted too much time here already. We'll just hafta shove their corpses aside an' work around 'em fer now. We gotta get this boat rowed over to Lattie's shipkiller an' seize 'er, 'fore anyrat on any of the other ships wises up t' what's goin' on!"

They gained the topdeck, leaving two of their party below to guard the trapped crewrat, and there Cordato found Latura standing over the first slain rat, waiting for them. "Lattie, what're you doin' down 'ere?"

"Goin' with you to th' shipkiller. I gotta be there. Ye're takin' too long, ya slowpokes!"

"Yah, well, these things allers taken longer'n y' planned fer 'em." Cordato cast a nervous glance toward the _Seabolt_ and the _Gullslayer_. "Y' reckern either of em've caught onta what's goin' on here yet? Mebbe through their long glasses?"

Latura responded with greater confidence on the matter than anybeast at such a remove could possibly possess. "Naw, they're all too busy with their own stuff. Ain't realized what we mean t' do yet. But they will, soon. Gotta move quick, if we're gonna snatch th' shipkiller."

Spurred on by Latura's attitude of urgency, Cordato quickly called down a few more fighters to staff _Fleetrunner Eleven_ and, leaving Tropsa in charge of the _Redfoam_ , took the wheel of the tiny spyboat himself to steer the raiding party toward their target. Even with no wind to fill the smart sails or any current to lift their hull, they soon had their purloined vessel skimming swiftly over the wavetops toward the _Seabolt_.

Aboard the _Gullslayer_ , First Mate Sherbatuk took aside his half-brother Gorbatuk. "Cap'n, th' fleetrunner's left th' _Redfoam,_ but she ain't headin' back this way. Looks like she's makin' fer the _Seabolt_ instead."

"So? Mortara must have sumpthin' she wants t' discuss with Cap'n Marbert. Or mebbe she just wants t' be onboard to observe the test. Who knows what orders Uroza mighta given her? They sure wouldn't share 'em with us!"

"Um, yeah, but … some o' the lads say they saw crew from th' _Redfoam_ climbin' down onta _Fleetrunner Eleven_ 'fore she pushed off. An' some thought they saw smoke or sumpthin' comin' outta her hatches too."

"Smoke?" Intrigued now, Gorbatuk moved from the port railing, where he'd been overseeing the tying up of the _Oyster Princess_ for the transfer of her slaves to the _Gullslayer_ , across to the starboard side, to gain a clearer view of the _Seabolt_ and _Fleetrunner Eleven_. Focusing his long glass on the smaller spycraft, he quickly dismissed Sherbatuk's report. "She's sailin' fine now, so if t'were anything to what they thought they saw t'all, couldn'ta been more'n a small galley cookfire or summat like that, an' they got it put out in a trice, with no real damage."

"What about th' crew who boarded her from th' _Redfoam_?"

"If that even happened t'all, prob'ly Mortara transferrin' some deckpaws over to th' _Seabolt_ , t' help out over there. We know she's short-staffed an' sailin' with just a skeleton crew. Mebbe the _Redfoam_ was meant t' be here after all, fer that very purpose."

"Yah, but - a spyboat? Those're s'posed t' be restricted, special crew clearance only. Wouldn't think Mortara'd be ferryin' around us lowly types on her precious fleetrunner."

"Think it through, Sherb - her fleetrunner an' this tub alongside us that we'll soon be sendin' to th' seabed 're the only two craft with rowin' crews at th' moment. If Mortara wanted a swift transfer of ratpower t'ween ships, that's about the only way she c'd do it."

"Oh, yeah. Hadn't thought o' that. Guess that's why ye're cap'n!"

"Aye. That's why I am." Thinking no more of the matter, Gorbatuk turned away from the fleetrunner skimming her way toward the _Seabolt_ to return his attention to more important matters closer to paw.


	46. Chapter XLV

**XLV.**

 **THE DOLDRUMS**

Aboard the _Seabolt_ , Captain Marbert and his pawful of crewrats monitored the approach of the fleetrunner with interest far more intent than that of Gorbatuk. For one thing, they had little to occupy themselves while waiting for the oarslaves to be transferred from the _Oyster Princess_ to the _Gullslayer_ , mostly twiddling their paws while Clucus fussed about with final checks and tweaks to his giant crossbow weapon, its first treetrunk-sized, stormpowder-tipped projectile already loaded into position and awaiting the launching cable to be cranked back to full tautness and then released to send it flying. For another, a visit by Uroza's spyrats was not something welcomed by any captain of the Fleet, from the most trusted, seasoned dreadnaught and ironclad skippers to the greenest, lowliest cargo and supply ship pilots. And while Marbert very much doubted he'd done anything to draw the wrath or suspicion of the female spyrat - mainly because there was very little he _could_ do until the other vessels had properly positioned themselves for this weapons test - his heart hardly leapt with joy at the idea of Mortara in his midst, even if only as an observer.

Marbert's second-in-command for this experimental voyage, a stout female by the name of Mistrala, stood at her captain's side watching as _Fleetrunner Eleven_ bore down on them. "Whaddya suppose that witch wants with us now?"

Marbert snorted; he'd heard Mistrala referred to as a witch plenty of times herself by the male crewrats with whom she'd served over the seasons. "Dunno, Missy, but unless it's th' highest of official business, I'll be lettin' you babysit 'er while she's here." Mistrala's face fell, eliciting a grin from her superior. "Y' know, let you two gals go off an' talk gal-pal talk 'twixt yerselves, free up us malebeasts fer doin' th' real work 'round 'ere."

Mistrala scowled. "I c'n work circles 'round most anyrat on this sorry crew, an' you know it!"

"Yah - an' you could prob'ly best most of 'em in a fight too, armed or bared-pawed. But I'm thinkin' a fellow female might be able t' come up with ways to distract an' occupy Mortara that th' rest of us wouldn't."

The sherat's face clouded over. "Was that the only reason you named me yer Number Two on this mission, Cap'n?"

"Aye, Missy, that could be it! Now put on yer friendliest fangs an' long-lashed eyes, 'cos they're nearly here!"

Down on _Fleetrunner Eleven_ , Cordato looked up at the _Seabolt_ with new respect and wonderment as the weapons ship now loomed over him. From a distance, the craft had struck him and the rest of the rebel slaves as ridiculous and unwieldy, but up close her formidable audacity grew far more impressive and intimidating. The placement of the masts fore and aft had left the entire middle of the vessel free to accept the vast turntable now filling the midship deck, and there upon that circular platform could be glimpsed none other than Clucus himself, moving amongst the machinations twiddling and fiddling with whatever arcane infrastructure made the whole thing work … if it worked at all, which remained to be seen. Latura had said as much herself, that this was a test cruise to try out her "shipkiller" on an open-sea target. But at least she'd been right about Clucus even being on this vessel, and if she could be proven true about so vital a detail as that, then maybe her entire scatterbrained, impossible scheme for emerging victorious here held some hope of success as well.

That ratmaid now rode belowdecks with the rowers and the rest of the raiding party, some of Cordato's fighters practically having to sit on Latura to keep her from running up and prancing all over the limited topdeck area. Cordato had made sure to bring along only his fellow searats for this assault, trusted rats dressed in outfits "borrowed" from the former crew of the _Redfoam_ to make them appear authentic sailors of Tratton's navy, at least until one looked closer. The last thing he needed was for all that meticulous preparation to be undone by one addle-brained simpleton whose presence might betray that this fleetrunner no longer plied the main under the paw of her former dark mistress.

Fortunately for the raiders, on this day everything fell perfectly into place for them, fate and circumstance aligning according to some plan no mere mortal beast could have conceived and made to work. Not only did Latura remain successfully hidden out of sight, not only did their outfits allow them to draw up right alongside the _Seabolt_ and tie up to her without raising any undue alarm from her limited crew, but now even Cordato's coincidental acquaintance with the assassinated captain of _Fleetrunner Eleven_ would prove beneficial in getting him and his rats where they needed to be.

"Ahoy, where's yer captain?" Marbert yelled down, as he and all his crew lined up along the railing to lower a ladder and receive the newcomers.

"Cap'n Mortara stayed b'hind on th' _Redfoam_ t' see to things there," Cordato called back in reply, not sure whether that rank was the proper one for a spyrat commanding a fleetrunner but making a point of identifying her by name so as to appear more likely to come across as one of her regular crew. "She sent over some extra deckpaws t' help with th' testing."

The puzzlement was plain on Marbert's face as he digested these tidings. "That weren't ever part o' any plans I heard. What made 'er decide on this?"

Cordato shrugged. "Just th' way she wants it. Are _you_ gonna try'n figger out a spyrat's mind? So, are we comin' aboard or not?"

"Um, yah. Okay sure. Bring those uglysnouts on up, an' we'll find some use to put 'em to!"

The ruse worked like a charm. None of Marbert's sparse crew questioned why their relief were all heavily armed as one after the other ascended the rope ladder and came to stand on the _Seabolt_ 's deck; after all, they were all searats here, and it wasn't at all unusual to see fighters of the Fleet going about armed as a matter of course. At length Cordato and his dozen-odd supporters were all assembled before Marbert and his crew, eliciting looks of surprise from their oblivious adversary.

"How'd y' all fit down in that bucket, along with th' rowers too?"

"We just crowded th' staterooms fer th' crossin'. No great hardship, since t'was a short one." Cordato glanced around the deck. "Where's th' rest o' yer crew, Cap'n?"

"Oh, this's all o' us. Only needed a few t' shape sail fer the voyage out from Terramort - tho' now that we're becalmed, looks like Cap'n Gorbatuk an' th' _Gullslayer_ 'll hafta tow us out once the testin's done with. Least he'll have plenny o' slave paws t' staff his oars!"

"Yah. Slaves. Oh, an' speakin' o' that … " Cordato gave a paw signal, and up came a dozen loaded crossbows. Moments later Marbert and his entire crew lay sprawled on the deck of the _Seabolt_ , transfixed and dead or dying. Cordato stood over the felled captain with a grin of triumphant malice. "Just so happens _we're_ slaves too. Least we were, 'til we rebelled an' slew the entire crew o' th' _Redfoam_ , from Trangle on down t' his lowliest deckpaw. Oh, an' Mortara's dead too, in case ye're won'drin' … as you'll soon be too, judgin' by that bloody spittle fleckin' yer lips. Wasn't gonna leave a spyrat alive at our backs, or a cap'n neither. We captured a galleon, we captured a fleetrunner, an' now we're capturin' whatever y' call this waterlogged thing. Liddle ratty told me it kills ships, so why don't we try it out on that frigate over yonder, hmm?"

Marbert's dimming eyes went wide as his ebbing awareness wrapped itself around the notion of the _Seabolt_ falling into the paws of murderous, desperate rebel slaves with the mother of all scores to settle and nothing to lose. The captain died with an expression of abject horror frozen on his face at the idea of what might have been birthed here and unleashed upon Tratton's Empire, right under his failed command.

All things considered, he was probably better off dead here at the paws of these rebels than dragged before Tratton and Uroza to face the consequences of what he'd allowed to happen.

Cordato turned to his raiders. "Sweep this ship, in groups of three, stem t' stern and top t' bottom, make sure Cap'n Deadrat 'ere wasn't lyin' an' there ain't any more o' his gang layin' low t' give us a nasty surprise later. An' one o' you go bring Lattie up. Now that we got her shipkiller for her, let's see what we c'n do with it!"

These words had barely left his mouth when the ratmaid's exuberant voice sounded from behind him as Latura climbed her way up onto the deck to join the rest of their team. She ambled over to stand at Cordato's side as she gazed at all the shot rats, some still moaning and writing in their final agonies but most dead as Marbert. "Ooo, got messy up 'ere. Deadrats all about … even a lady rat too, tho' she looks kinda male-ish. Hmm … no Maskface tho'."

This sudden realization struck Cordato like a thunderbolt, making him cast his wide-eyed gaze about them. "That's right! Where'd Clucus go? I saw that ferret up on 'is weapon as we approached, so unless 'ee jumped overboard, he's still gotta be aboard somewhere! Some o' you, check up on that turntable an' all around it too, until he turns up! We can't let Clucus escape - he's the one beast who could undo all our plans! Find 'im - alive if y' can, but just find 'im!"

These disparate orders left Cordato's raiding party spread thin, as some headed belowdecks to make sure no hidden resistors remained while others swarmed the deck around the turntable and up onto the rotating platform itself to scour the area for the ferret inventor - and that wasn't even counting the two forced to stay behind on the fleetrunner to keep an eye on the crewrat of Mortara's who'd barricaded himself inside the stateroom. All in all it was a chaotic and haphazard scene, in contrast to the smooth ruthlessness with which Cordato had taken out Marbert's unsuspecting crew of the _Seabolt_.

And that chaos did not go unnoticed.

Across the way, the _Gullslayer_ 's lookout in the crow's nest had seen the entire ambush unfold from his elevated vantage and even now, after having alerted the bosun, looked down on the corpses of the _Seabolt_ 's proper crew littering the converted trader vessel and the intruding interlopers scrambling this way and that over her deck and turntable in an unmistakable search-and-secure pattern. The bosun quickly alerted First Mate Sherbatuk, who wasted no time in appraising Captain Gorbatuk of the inexplicable and forboding situation. In very short order the three of them lined the starboard railing staring out toward the weaponship, Gorbatuk scrutinizing the scene through his long glass, although he need hardly have bothered; the _Gullslayer_ and the _Oyster Princess_ now both lay close enough to the _Seabolt_ that Clucus would have a clear shot at the dilapidated woodlander ship once the frigate's rowing galley was fully staffed and the warship rowed clear for the ferret inventor to test his latest gift to Tratton's arsenal. That was the entire point to their current positioning.

Except that now, things suddenly weren't going according to plan - or at least any plan Gorbatuk had been appraised of.

"What th' tailrot is Mortara up to? Those don't even look like her rats … an' where is she 'erself? Looks like that spy's stagin' some kinda double-cross … but against who, an' fer who?"

"Mebbe she's seizin' it fer Spymater Uroza?" Sherbatuk speculated.

"Out here in th' Doldrums? That makes no sense! 'Sides, Uroza was right there on Terramort seein' us off when we set sail. He wouldn'ta hadta seize her at all; with King Tratton off t' wherever he's gone to, Uroza has run of the isle with norat above him. He coulda taken th' _Seabolt_ fer his own any time he wanted, right then an' there, without sendin' us all th' way out here."

"Y reckon Mortara's turned traitor, an' means t' take it fer herself? Mebbe in cahoots with Cap'n Trangle? That'd explain what th' _Redfoam_ 's doin' out here, an' why she went right to him to get more fighters from 'is crew …. "

Gorbatuk's blood suddenly ran cold. "Well, _somebeast's_ seizin' her, an' none too gently; looks like Marbert's entire crew's been cut down. An' we ain't part of it, which means … " He trained his long glass on the massive weapon Clucus had wrought, and there in his circular field of magnified vision he glimpsed the most curious and impossible thing of all: a mere waif of a homely ratmaid, snaggletoothed and gangly, clambering over the war engine like a child at play. She most certainly was no spyrat of Uroza's or Mortara's, and she most certainly was no searat either.

As if sensing his distant, monocular gaze fixed on her, the carefree ratmaid looked up and gave a lopsided smile right through the telescope at him, raising her paw for a friendly wave.

"Which means what, Cap'n?" Sherbatuk asked, left hanging by his half-brother's unfinished speculation.

"If we ain't part o' their scheme, an' they mean t' get away with the _Seabolt_ , that means they can't have us tryin' t' stop 'em … an' they'll not want any witnesses neither. Bring up th' stormpowder, an' make both catapults ready fer firing! We gotta sink that fur-forsaken warboat 'fore it sinks us!"

"But, Cap'n!" Sherbatuk protested. "That's royal property! An' Clucus is on board!"

"If that ferret ain't a part o' this 'imself, then he'll soon be dead or captured, if he ain't already. An' if that giant bolt-thrower can do what Clucus boasted, an' those're enemies of th' King tryin' t' seize 'er now, think what damage they could do to the Fleet! No ship'd be able t' stand against 'em!"

Sherbatuk blanched, then rushed to relay his captain's defensive orders.

Cordato was not so busy with his search for Clucus and any other possible survivors of Marbert's crew that he failed to notice the change in activity on board the _Gullslayer_. Despite the distance separating them, the two ships lay parallel to each other, and not so far apart that it didn't become plainly evident when the frigate's twin catapults were being readied for use. Cordato stiffened at the sight, fur bristling in alarm. "We been found out!" he bellowed to anyrat close enough to hear. "They're gettin' ready t' sink us! Find me that ferret, now!"

Latura was still having fun up on the mammoth crossbow, alone for the moment since the rebel searchers had already swept across the turntable and moved on, having found no sign of Clucus. At the tip of the loaded super-bolt out near the edge of the circular platform, she glanced down into a recess of the rotating mechanism and found a pair of glinting, panicked eyes returning her stare. "Oh, hullo there, Mista Maskface! Didn't see ya down there. That's a good hidin' spot! But now I found ya, ye're it now!"

While the cowering Clucus shushed and made frantic pleading paw gestures for the ratmaid not to reveal his presence to the others, Latura obliviously called to Cordato over her shoulder, "Hey, yoohoo! Found 'im! Found th' Maskface!"

Within moments, Cordato and several of his team stood alongside Latura up on the turntable, anxiously alternating between nervous glances toward the arming _Gullslayer_ and snarls and scowls down at the sheltering ferret. "Okay, come on outta there, you," Cordato growled at Clucus. "Cooperate an' do 'xactly what we tell ya, an' you'll not be harmed."

"Don't berlieve ya! You slew Cap'n Marbert an' First Mate Mistrala an' all th' rest!"

"We need you. We didn't need 'em."

"I ain't helpin' you! I ain't gonna help you kill any more rats!"

"Nay, you just design engines o' mass death like this contraption, an' let others do all th' killin'. Akter, Ramatar, reach down an' haul this lily-livered deathmaster out where he'll be of use to us!"

The two rats named to this task strove to do as ordered, but Clucus pushed himself farther back in his protective crevice, lashing out with his dagger to leave his two retrievers with sliced paws and no captive to show for their pained efforts.

"'ee's wedged too far back in, it's too narrow t' get at 'im," Akter complained as he wrapped a cloth around his bleeding paw.

Cordato, losing his patience as the catapults aboard the _Gullslayer_ drew nearer to launching with each passing moment, stood over the recess where Clucus hid and shouted down at him, "Quit playin' games an' get up 'ere, ferret, 'fore ya die!"

"You can't kill me! Just said yerself you need me!"

"Won't be us killin' you. Yer friends over on that frigate have figgered out fer themselves what we mean t' do, an' they're readyin' their catapults t' sink us."

"What?! No! They'd never do that!"

"Then come on up an' see fer yerself, if y' don't berlieve me." A tap on his shoulder made Cordato snap around at the pestering ratmaid. "Not now, Lattie."

"It's a trick!" Clucus yelled up from his shelter. "Ye're only sayin' that t' lure me out!"

"It ain't no - " Tap tap. "Grrr - not _now_ , Lattie."

"We gotta get shootin' off that big arrow pretty soon, Cap'n Cap'n. Time's a-runnin' short."

"Don't you think I know that? Why d'you think I'm tryin' t' get Clucus outta his hole?"

"But we don't need 'im fer that."

Cordato gaped at the ratmaid. "Whaddya mean?"

"Don't need 'im. I know how it works."

"You … know how to fire this thing?"

"Ayup! That's why I came over with ya! Been studyin' it real hard, got it all figgered out now. I'll show ya what t' do."

"But, Clucus was still fiddlin' 'round with it when we boarded, makin' it ready, like there was still more that needed doin' … "

"Anope." Latura pointed to the tip of the tree-sized projectile, where the stormpowder keg was already lashed into place with its loose end of entwining rope trailing messily down into the nook where Clucus hid, the cask's fuse in place and ready for lighting. "It's already got its powder 'tached, just gotta set spark to it." She turned to indicate the array of mechanisms behind her. "Those cranks pull th' big string back tight so you c'n shoot it, those cranks over there spin th' whole thing 'round, an' these cranks 'ere lift it or lower it. Whole thing's kinda … cranky."

Clucus began calling up from his niche in a panic, "No, no, she's wrong, it ain't ready yet, it ain't … " but Cordato ignored the ferret, yelling out in a voice fit to reach even those who'd gone below to search the lower rooms and companionways.

"All paws up here! All paws topside! We're under attack! We're under attack!"

His warning cry did its work, and soon there were three rats at each cable crank, applying all their muscle to the winch handles to pull the launching cable back one painstaking paw's breadth at a time.

"How will we know when it's pulled back taut 'nuff?" Cordato asked.

"'Cos it'll click when it is."

 _CLICK!_

"See? Toldja. Now, gotta spin it 'round a bit so it's pointed right at bigship's powder room. Can't light th' keg until right 'fore we shoot."

"Well that makes sense." Cordato spared a glance at the _Gullslayer_ , and saw her crew bearing stormpowder kegs of their own up from their armory to the catapult stations, and realized they were only moments away from sending lit explosive casks toward the _Seabolt_. "Gah, they're almost ready! What now, Lattie, what now?"

"Those cranks there," she instructed, pointing. "Gotta get it aimed right."

"You heard her!" Cordato snapped at his underlings, who jumped to obey, but after two strained, laborious handle turns a warning from Latura stopped them.

"Wrong way, wrong way! Gotta turn it th' other way!"

"The other way, dolts!" Cordato laid into them with his tongue. "We gotta aim it _at_ th' _Gullslayer,_ not away!" As his team hastened to comply and reversed themselves, nudging the turntable in the other direction to take dead aim at the frigate, Cordato saw the kegs being loaded into the catapults on the bigger ship. "They ain't even usin' rangin' test kegs t' set their aim … just gonna start lobbin' live kegs our way, an' hope they hit, That first volley better go wide or fall short, or else we're sunk!"

"Ayup, that'd be bad," Latura agreed.

And so the rushed, frantic, painstaking race between the two warships dragged on as the moments dragged by, everyrat's time perception stretched out and elongated as it tended to be under such circumstances, every pounding heartbeat a miniature eternity as both sides waited and strove to see and determine who would live and who would die.

The bombardiers aboard the _Gullslayer_ won the opening sprint, as one sparking cask shot from the first catapult toward the _Seabolt_. Cordato clenched his jaw and his fists as he prepared for an explosion which would extinguish him from the world forever. But the flying cask sailed clear over their heads and directly between the former _Goodwill_ 's fore and aft masts, her canvases furled tight now that they were of no use here in these windless latitudes. The explosive charge splashed into the sea well behind them, not even exploding once the waters swallowed it and dampened its fuse.

The second catapult flung its destructive payload toward the _Seabolt_ , this cask aimed more squarely at the aft mast … but even this one overshot its target as well, clearing the top of the mast by several body lengths before arcing down into the sea beyond. Unlike the first keg, this one's fuse found the powder at the moment of impact upon the sea's surface, the earsplitting blast sending up a spume of salty water to mingle with the smoke and flame and tiny wood splinters, all thankfully far enough from the _Seabolt_ to do no more than cast a gentle, drifting mist across the rebel rats.

"Hey, Cap'n," Ramater called out as he applied himself to his crank handle, "I think they're too close! Catapults ain't meant t' be used at such close quarters!"

"Don't mean they won't keep tryin', an' mebbe get lucky with one o' their next shots! So keep churnin' that winch fer all ye're worth!"

On the _Gullslayer_ , archers had taken up shooting positions all along the lower masts, twanging shafts toward the threatening experimental prototype even as the fusilliers prepared the next double-volley of catapult casks. But every arrow fell short of the retrofitted woodlander vessel, posing no threat to those on and around the slowly-rotating turntable. It looked for the moment as if the _Seabolt_ might by sheer providence have found herself in the sweetest of sweet spots: too close to the _Gullslayer_ to be easily menaced by the frigate's main war engines, but too far for arrows to reach her. And so the slow dance of death continued to play out by its panicked performers.

Clucus, at the sound of the blast, poked his stripe-faced head up out of his hiding hole but, at the sight of so many of the enemy nearby, quickly ducked back down again.

"Stopstopstop!" Latura shouted all of a sudden, waving her paws in the air for all to see. "We got 'er lined up jus' right!"

"Great!" Cordato said in relief. "Now let's get that cask lit an' this barricade post launched!"

"Um, can't do that quite yet … "

Cordato glared at Latura. "Why not?!"

The ratmaid squinted toward the _Gullslayer_ between the upraised pawthumbs of her outstretched arms. "Gotta be raised just a skootch, t' hit th' powder book right where we gotta."

"Powder book?" Cordato stared at her blankly. "Y' mean powder magazine?"

"Book, magazine, wotever. Those cranks over there'll lift 'er up like we need."

"Can't we just shoot it now?" Cordato implored, conscious of the next imminent catapult salvo.

"Nopenopenope. Gotta be lifted t' hit right."

"Get on it, rats! Turn that aimin' crank with all y' got, 'fore that next volley comes in!" Then something else occurred to the erstwhile captain. "Hey, what've we got t' light that fuse with? Any flint 'n' tinder at paw?"

His fellow rebels - those not applying their muscle to the aiming winch - looked to each other and shrugged. "Saw a couple lit lanterns down below," one suggested uncertainly.

"Well don't jus' stand there! Go fetch 'em, quick!"

While two of the rats raced off to obey, the next two stormpowder casks were launched from the _Gullslayer_ , and Cordato saw at once what their new strategy was. Realizing from their first salvo that they'd be hard-pressed and extremely lucky to land a direct hit on the _Seabolt_ at such close proximity, Gorbatuk had ordered his gunners to aim for the masts instead, knowing that was the part of the enemy craft they'd stand the greatest chance of striking. Now, even as one keg sparked its way clear over the forward mast to land harmlessly in the sea beyond, the second found the aft mast with a glancing blow off the furled sails.

By some miracle - or perhaps, with Latura in their midst, it was something both more and less than a miracle - the fizzing keg bounced off the rolled canvases without exploding on impact, ricocheting off to one side to fall into the sea back past the stern and detonating just above the water in another geyser of smoke and spray.

"Ow," Latura declared, pawing at her ear. "That was loud. Um, okay, that's raised enuff! We can shoot now!"

"Not yet we can't. Where're those lanterns?!"

The rat pair burst from the companionway, each bearing a lit lamp. They clambered up onto the turntable, breathless, to take their captain's orders.

"Ah, good. A backup, in case sumpthin' goes wrong. You - " Cordato pointed at the nearer rat, " - go get that fuse lit, so we c'n launch this thing!"

The rat cast a wary eye at where the powder keg was tied to the preposterous harpoon. "Uh, but it's stickin' out past th' edge of th' deck, over th' water … "

"Then crawl out along it t' get there - it's wide enuff t' support you."

"Ooo, that sound like fun!" Latura rejoiced. "Can I do it? Pleeease?"

"No, Lattie, ye'd drop it in th' drink."

"Naw I wouldn't!"

Cordato addressed the lantern rat. "Get movin'!"

"Um, aye, sir!" The rat ran out to the edge of the turntable facing the _Gullslayer_ and made to straddle the giant wood bolt, more resembling a horizontal main mast than anything, awkwardly trying to handle the lit lantern at the same time.

He happened to be right over the recess where Clucus sheltered. Now that ferret jumped up out of his hiding spot and gave the balancing rat a shove that sent him off the massive arrow and thudding to the turntable. The lantern slipped from his paw and clattered overboard into the sea.

Latura rolled her eyes. "Jeepers, _I_ coulda done that!"

Two of Cordato's rats rushed forward with swords drawn to take care of Clucus, but the interfering ferret ducked back down into his hiding spot, falling backward rather forcefully and becoming entangled in the ropes down there as he retreated far enough to escape the questing blades. Only too well aware that the gunners aboard the _Gullslayer_ were preparing to light and launch their third volley, Cordato grabbed the backup lantern himself and sprinted toward the giant harpoon, vaulting up onto its shaft and shinnying the last body-length or so out over the water to reach the powder keg at the tip. Steadying himself with legs wrapped tightly around the bolt, he exposed the flame within the lamp and set the cask's fuse to sparking life. Satisfied it was fully caught, Cordato tossed the lantern over his shoulder, performed an acrobatic turnabout and leapt squirrel-like back down onto the turntable.

"Launch it! Shoot, shoot!"

"Ooo, lemme, lemme!" It just so happened that Latura was standing closest to the firing lever, and since the rebels hadn't bothered to work out just who among them would pull the trigger when the time came, the ratmaid stepped forward to claim that honor for herself. She leaned into the upright handle while Cordato and several others, realizing they were directly in the path of where the taut cable would release, leapt and rolled clear.

"Oof! This's harder'n I thought!" Latura huffed as she threw all her sleight weight against the lever. From across the deck, lying flat on his belly, Cordato looked on in mortification, certain that the cask's short fuse must surely burn down before Latura would be able to shift the lever, unleashing a blast which would doom them all.

Then the firing handle finally jerked forward with a loud, decisive click, the tension released, and the vast crossbow bolt shot from the _Seabolt_ straight on target for a direct strike broadside at the _Gullslayer_ … and as the impossible arrow sped between the two ships, it trailed behind it an unwilling and ill-fated passenger.

Clucus, realizing at the very last moment just which ropes ensnared him, was reaching down to disengage himself from the coils when the snap/thunk! of the firing mechanism sounded in his ears and shuddered through his body. Half a heartbeat later he himself was airborne, the trailing end of the rope lashing the stormpowder keg to the harpoon looped around his ankle and yanking him clear from his recess. Such was the heft and momentum of the projectile launched from his newest weapon that his added weight barely affected the flight trajectory at all, and thus was Clucus's last sight in this world a view of the _Seabolt_ receding from him at high velocity as he hurtled legs-and-tail-first toward his rendezvous with annihilation.

"Oops," Latura muttered as she saw the unfortunate ferret inventor flying across the wavetops in the trailing wake of the great bolt, his arms flailing helplessly. "There goes Maskface … "

The giant bolt struck just as the catapult fusilliers had finished lighting the fuses of their two powderkegs for their next salvo, but before they could launch. Gorbatuk and Sherbatuk and the rest of the assembled crew gaped wide-eyed with hearts in their mouths as they saw the bolt bearing down on them, the absurd added detail of Clucus flying along behind it barely registering before impact. And upon that impact, which extinguished the ferret forever, came a blast which punched through the frigate's reinforced hull, splintered deck and rail, and sent the two stormpowder kegs flying free from their catapult buckets. Moments later they too exploded, shredding sails and shattering masts and wrecking riggings. The lives claimed and injuries sustained in this initial triple blast were staggering.

And then the _Gullslayer_ 's main powder magazine blew, dwarfing the destruction preceding it.

For the second time that season, the rebel slaves of the _Redfoam_ watched a larger ship of Tratton's Fleet split asunder as a result of their wrath, dying in the spectacular fashion that only the stormpowder could achieve. And if the _Gullslayer_ didn't carry stores of the explosive to quite match the cataclysmic end of the dreadnaught, those aboard the _Seabolt_ were a lot closer to the frigate than the _Redfoam_ had been to the _Skyburn_ , and so the effect was much the same from their perspective, with the converted trader vessel almost capsized by the detonation's force before righting herself again. Bits of flaming and smoking debris showered down upon the weapons ship, although Latura and Cordato and the rest managed to escape any serious injury from this flying wreckage.

The _Oyster Princess_ fared not quite so well. Tied up to the _Gullslayer_ , the dilapidated woodlander vessel by some miracle survived largely intact, blasted clear from the frigate by the explosion. But if her hull remained unruptured, it could not remain upright; buffeted sideways by the blast, the mooring ropes binding her to the _Gullslayer_ all severed by the fireball, the smaller vessel was lifted entirely out of the water, slammed back down upon the sea's surface on her side, and then continued to roll until her keel pointed straight up at the sky, all in a matter of heartbeats. Thus, while the warship burned and broke apart and slowly sank beneath the waves, the _Oyster Princess_ bobbed upside-down upon the surface, the lower decks where the slaves were kept now the highest point within the ship, but with a solid hull sealing off any escape for survivors trapped within.

Ignoring the plight of the capsized targeting ship for the moment, Cordato and his companions raised themselves to their footpaws upon the still-swaying deck, grinning and cheering and triumphantly whooping in victory at laying low another of Tratton's warships, this time against even greater odds than the first. "Y' did it, Lattie!" the rebel captain exulted, coming over to slap the unsteady ratmaid on the back. "Y' said we could kill that frigate, an' we did! Close thing it was, but we're still afloat, an' they ain't!"

"Lost poor Maskface tho'. Ferrety went boom."

"Yeah, capturin' him alive might've been a boon, an' he might've made a useful hostage, but guess it wasn't meant t' be. Least we got t' show him how good his final invention works, har! So, let's get back to th' _Redfoam_ , an' figger out how we're gonna get us all towed outta these Doldrums with our new prize 'ere."

Latura shook her head and pointed. "Nawp - gotta go rescue 'em first."

Cordato followed the ratmaid's pointing paw, which at first seemed to be indicating the broken, burning and sinking _Gullslayer_. Much of her crew had been slain outright by the chain of explosions, and now even more spilled into the sea to thrash briefly and futilely before disappearing below the surface, never to be seen again. Even had any of those survivors been capable swimmers, they'd have been hard-pressed to cover the distance between the foundering _Gullslayer_ and the onlooking _Seabolt._ "Why'd we wanna rescue any o' those lot, Lattie? After we just went t' such lengths t' sink 'em? They'd not take very kindly t' anything t' do with us, an' they'd be like as not t' cut off any paw of help we held out their way."

Latura looked blank for a moment, then shook her head again. "Nonono, not them. Not th' fightin' rats. The others, in th' slave ship."

Cordato had almost forgotten about the _Oyster Princess_ ; even now, the shattered hulk of the _Gullslayer_ all but hid the capsized smaller vessel from view. "The slaves? An' how're we supposed t' do that? Wasn't their ship wrecked too in that blast?"

"Naw. Turned all turvy-topsy, an' some inside may've died, but lots didn't. We gotta go get 'em now."

"Turvy-topsy? Y' mean topsy-turvy, as in upside-down? Well, that'd be a fine piece o' work, since they'd all be trapped 'neath a solid hull."

"Bring axes. Chop 'em out."

"Bring 'em how? Case you'd forgot, this bucket we're on ain't got no rowin' galley, even if we had enuff paws t' staff it, which we don't."

"Take liddlefastboat!" Latura declared, her face lighting up as this obvious solution occurred to her immediately.

"That liddle thing? There better not be more'n a dozen survivors, 'cos we'd not have room t' bring back any more'n that. An' what about any o' th' _Gullslayer_ 's crew who've already climbed atop it, or who're flounderin' about clingin' to flotsam an' jetsam an' who'd try'n board us if we venture too close? Waters over that way could be full of 'em, makin' it treacherous fer a small crew like ours t' blunder inta them."

"Well, guess you'd just hafta slay 'em, wouldn'tcha? Ain't like y' ain't good at that. But we gotta try 'n' save as many as we can. Might need 'em, might need 'em."

Even if Cordato himself remained less than wholly convinced, the others around him heard the tones of fate in Latura's voice, as they had so many times before - the tone which said this was Something That Must Be Done, and nobeast was to deny her edict.

"Well, Cap'n," Akter spoke up, "havin' some extra paws down on th' _Redfoam_ 's oars might be a big help in gettin' us all outta these becalmed waters. 'Specially if we gotta tow this ship-shooter out with us."

On some level Cordato realized further protest was pointless. "Okay, okay. We'll go get 'em. But fates help us if this turns out t' be a mistake, an' we lose ev'rything we just gained … "

Cordato, Latura and two others of the raiding party stayed aboard the _Seabolt_ to hold their prize against any takers in the unlikely event that any of the _Gullslayer_ 's surviving crew made it this far and tried to board with vengeance or mischief in mind. As they stood watching _Fleetrunner Eleven_ pull away for her improbable rescue mission, one of the rats turned to Cordato. "'ey, sir, didn't have time t' mention it before, with so much goin' on, but we found summat int'restin' when we was searchin' belowdecks … "

While eight of the raiders pulled at the oars down in the fleetrunner's tiny, low-ceilinged galley - the original slain crew finally dumped overboard to clear out space they'd sorely need for any slaves they succeeded in rescuing from the _Oyster Princess_ \- and one piloted at the craft's wheel, the rest stood with loaded crossbows at the ready and swords in paw. These weapons came into use as the fleetrunner nosed her way around the doomed frigate to reach the capsized target ship; any number of the _Gullslayer_ 's surviving crew, either swimming freely or desperately hanging onto any wreckage that would float, tried to make their way to the spycraft, but any who succeeded were met with slashing and stabbing blades that quickly dispatched them if they made any attempt to climb up onto the seized fleetrunner.

The last surviving member of the spy vessel's original crew remained barricaded in his stateroom. The rebels spared only an occasional glance toward his sealed door to make sure he stayed harmlessly contained, too busy to give him any more of their attention than that, and while that extra room could certainly have been used to accommodate rescued slaves for the trip back to the _Seabolt_ , there simply wasn't time to deal with it now.

Arriving at the upended _Oyster Princess_ , the party controlling the fleetrunner encountered several searats who'd attained the hull and sat perched upon it to save themselves from drowning. Some had blades, but none had made it off the _Gullslayer_ with any ranged weaponry, so they were helpless as the rebels picked them off with their crossbows, sending one after another splashing into the sea with bolts in them; the final two didn't even wait to be shot, plunging into the waters of their own accord to place the hull of the overturned woodlander vessel between themselves and the marauding rescuers.

Ramatar led his fellows up onto the _Oyster Princess_ with axes in paw, and immediately they began chopping away at the exposed underside of the ship to put holes in the wood barrier which might allow any survivors within to escape. Normally they might expect to encounter a layer of ballast or lower cargo hold full of impeding goods and supplies, but since this vessel had been slated for imminent destruction and consignment to a watery grave, she'd been stripped of anything useful and sent out from Terramort as little more than a floating shell. Thus did the escape holes look down into empty space, with just one deck level separating the rescuers from the slaves presumably trapped within.

As Ramatar led his extraction team down through the jagged holes they'd punched through the weak hull, they heard and felt the crippled woodlander ship creaking and shuddering all around them, as if she might come apart at any moment. The _Oyster Princess_ may have survived the explosion better than the _Gullslayer_ had, but the blast had clearly dealt a serious blow to her own integrity, and the boarders took each trepidatious step worried that the craft could well break up around them, sealing off their only route of escape and leaving them trapped inside the sinking wreck.

"Okay, boyos, stay sharp an' keep yer wits about ye, an' at th' first sign we're goin' down, make like all seasons fer topside agin, no matter what slaves're down 'ere. An' 'member, this's all upside-down now, so stairways an' passages'll be all askew an' disorientin'. Mind yer step, an' let's go see whether this effort was even worth it."

It was. Finding stairs leading up/down from the empty hold, they soon reached the rowing galley right where logic and experience told them it would be. Barely any light reached here from the breached hull one level above, leaving the side oar ports as the main source of illumination for the long chamber; fortunately, those holes remained above the waterline even in the _Oyster Princess_ 's present inverted state. The same could not be said for other egresses farther above/below, doorways and hatches that normally rode high above the water but which, now submerged, admitted seawater in a way never intended. The ceiling of the rowing galley, now the floor, already contained enough of the wet intruder for Ramatar and his companions to slosh through up to their ankles, while the all-pervasive background of rushing water left no doubt it would soon be up to their shins, then knees, then waists …

The _Oyster Princess_ was sinking, and their time to complete their mission here was short.

But if matters looked desperate in this regard, fate had at least granted them one boon. At the moment of the _Gullslayer_ 's destruction, Captain Gorbatuck's crewrats had already freed every oarslave here, so none remained tied or chained in place in need of lengthy liberation from their bonds. This meant that they were all tumbled about and thrown forcefully throughout the galley when their vessel violently capsized, leading to one or two deaths and more than one or two injuries among the survivors, but on the whole the situation was still far better than it could have been.

Ramatar held up his paws and shouted for calm, quelling the wails and moans of fear and pain for the moment. "We're here t' save you, an' set you free," he told them. "First off, are all of ye oarslaves, or are there any searats 'mongst you?"

"All slaves," came a voice out of the confused gloom.

"Then how're you all free? Who freed you?"

"Crew from th' warship was untyin' us t' transfer us over to 'em. Then th' tidal wave hit an' turned us over, an' they ran down t' escape, leavin' us here t' fend fer ourselves."

"Down? They ran down? To th' part that's now underwater?"

"Guess they were still thinkin' in terms o' that way bein' up, even though it's down now. Or may'aps they knew goin' up now'd only leave 'em trapped 'neath th' hull with no escape."

"Then they ran to their deaths, unless they can swim real good an' hold their breaths a long time. Just as well, 'cos it gives us one less thing t' worry 'bout now. An' that hull's not a trap anymore, not with th' holes we just chopped through 'er!"

"But, then, who're you? Ain't you searats too?"

"Aye, we were - once. 'Fore we were made slaves like you. But we rebelled, overthrew our masters, an' now we sail th' seas as free rats! You ask who we are? We're th' ones who destroyed the _Gullslayer_ , an' seized the weapon ship meant t' send this tub to th' sea bottom. An' now we're rescuin' you, so, you c'n join us. But looks like this ship was doomed either way, an' time's runnin' short, so those o' you who can, foller us outta here an' up to th' cargo hold, an' we'll get you free. Shift yerselves now, time's a-wastin'!"

Several things surprised Ramatar during the next stage of their rescue operation. For one thing, nearly twoscore oarslaves made their way from the floundering galley up to the cargo hold - and a dozen of them were babes and youngrats, of far too tender seasons to have been of any use in pulling oars, or doing anything else; even the _Redfoam_ 's Carlton and Tallyrand were older than any of these.

"Our sons 'n' daughters," the spokesrat of the oarslaves explained when asked, "held as hostage against our good behavior. If we gave cause t' displease our masters, t'would be our young 'un's who'd pay th' price."

That Ramatar could believe, this tactic being fairly standard by searat slavekeeping protocol. "An' ye're all woodlanders? No former searats 'mongst you?"

"Nay. We're all from th' Northlands, culled up by that red badger's forces durin' their campaigns an' sent off t' this torment. Lotsa us didn't make it even this far, dyin' at th' paws of the badger's soldiers, or those of the searats who took us from 'em. An' a couple more o' us died jus' now, smashed 'gainst th' walls an' benches when we overturned."

"Er, sorry. So, this's all o' ye?" Ramatar looked over the assemblage, many of them clutching at head wounds or holding limp arms or leaning on each other for support, and hoped the answer was yes, because he didn't see how even this many were going to fit on the fleetrunner along with his own rats.

"All of us who could walk … all of us who're gonna be makin' it outta here."

"Right. Lemme just check to make sure th' coast's clear, an' then we'll start gettin' all o' you up topside." Ramatar didn't think the rats he'd left behind to guard their rear would have allowed any of the _Gullslayer_ 's survivors to climb back aboard the _Oyster Princess_ , but still he proceeded with caution, poking his head up through one of the hull breaches to scan for enemies and, spotting none, establishing eye contact with _Fleetrunner Eleven_ to make sure everything there was as it should be. He sent word down to his companions, and soon half of them crowded the hull's outer surface while the others tarried below for the moment, working in tandem to lift and pull the freed oarslaves up out of the sinking ship into the sunny daylight.

One of the woodland rats cast an eye toward the small spy boat. "Please tell me we ain't all gotta pile onto that t' be rescued?"

"It's either that or th' sea, friend. Which'd you rather?"

A few of the injured slaves winced and cried out in pain at the struggles to get them topside. A ratlad clung to his mother's waist. "Mum, 're we gonna sink 'n' go under 'fore we c'n get all rescyoo'd?"

"Norat's drownin' on my watch if I've aught t' say about it!" Ramatar snapped, although he himself wondered just how he was going to pull off such a feat. The listing and lowering of the hull beneath their footpaws served as a constant reminder that their time was running short. At least the dying _Gullslayer_ had sunk far enough herself that she seemed in no danger of falling over on top of them - Ramatar hoped. But then he spied something to hearten him, and to suggest there might be a solution to this dilemma right in front of him.

Pointing seaward, he yelled out to his fellow searats, "Hey, see that big floatin' net down there bumpin' 'gainst th' hull? Go fish it out an' carry it over to th' fleetrunner, an' get it tied onta th' stern, good 'n' tight! An' do it fast, 'fore we're all dipped in th' drink!"

His companions did as bidden, and soon the large patch of netting - which may have come from the frigate, or from the _Oyster Princess_ , but Ramatar didn't care much either way at the moment - was tied securely to the aft cleats of _Fleetrunner Eleven_. Several more of the _Gullslayer_ 's diminishing crew, seeing what their destroyers planned to do, tried to cling onto the net themselves, and were promptly dispatched by blade or bolt. His makeshift solution now in place, Ramatar led the way in ushering all their stranded slaves across from the _Oyster Princess_ to the spy craft.

The injured, elderly and the babes were allowed to ride aboard the fleetrunner herself; the rest were made to get in the water and grab hold of the trailing net, which would at least keep their heads above the seas as they were towed back to the _Seabolt_. And then they were off, clearing the _Oyster Princess_ just as she disappeared beneath the swells, taking with her the last chance of salvation for many of the drowning searats. The rebels at the oars made sure to keep _Fleetrunner Eleven_ at a slow-to-moderate clip, mindful to avoid excess speed which might swamp the trailing net and submerge its clinging passengers. Thus did the latest refugees and defectors from Tratton's Empire eventually reach the seized weapon ship, soggy and tired but alive, and grateful to be so.

Cordato looked the slaves up and down once they were assembled before him on the deck of the _Seabolt_ ; only a few of the injured remained down on the fleetrunner for immediate transfer to the _Redfoam_ for treatment. "Welcome to th' rebellion. Can't promise you long an' carefree lives, but at least ye'll never be in chains again long as ye're with us, an' just mebbe ye'll live longer here than you woulda as slaves. You'll be expected t' work an' pull yer own weight an' do yer fair share t' earn yer keep, but ye'll not be whipped or punished fer slackin', like under yer old masters - or fer gettin' sick or injured either. Speakin' o' which, we'll be ferryin' yer wounded across to our main ship fer healin' 'em as best we can, an' some o' you'll be goin' with 'em, tho' we'll not be able t' fit you all on one crossin', but we'll get that all straightened out in good time. But we're all in this t'gether now, an' we sink or swim as one. Remember that, an' we should get along jus' fine."

Cordato then walked up and down the line of freed slaves, picking out the halest and heartiest to send them back down to the fleetrunner. One asked, somewhat suspiciously, "Why're y' singlin' us out, over th' young an' weak?"

"'Cos you'll be able t' pull yer weight best - lit'rally. We'll need extra paws down in th' _Redfoam_ 's rowin' galley, an' you lot look best suited fer that."

"I thought you said we was free. Sounds t' me like ye're just gonna make us slaves again!"

"Oh, you _are_ free. Free t' eat or starve. You want our food, which we got little of t' spare? Then ye'll work fer it, jus' like all th' rest of us. If it's any consolation, there'll be some o' my own rats right down there beside ya on those oar handles. Y' see, these are what's know as th' Doldrums we're stuck in now, with no wind ner current t' bear us outta them. Only way we're gettin' free of 'em's by strokin' our way out, an' that means all able paws at the oars. 'Specially since we'll be towin' this bolt-launcher along with us, an' that's a lot o' extra weight. It'll take all we got, so that's what we'll give it!"

"Why not just leave it behind? Get us outta here all th' faster."

"Leave her behind? Leave her behind, 'ee says! Were y' fast asleep when we used her t' blast th' _Gullslayer_ in two? Ain't never been a weapon like this before, an' if we leave 'er behind, Tratton'll get 'is claws back on her … an' then who d'ya think he'll go huntin' fer with her? May'aps th' rebels who sank his frigate, an' a dreadnaught too? We don't claim this crossbow boat fer ourselves now, next time we'll see her will be when she's sendin' us all to our watery graves. So yah, we're takin' her - an' if it costs us a liddle extra muscle strain now, that's better than costin' us our lives on some other day!"

It was hard to argue such ruthless and sobering logic, and soon all the able-bodied woodland rats were back down on the fleetrunner to be borne to the _Redfoam_ , which would then be rowed back to this spot so that the _Seabolt_ could be tied up to her and towed free from these stilled waters, with the spycraft running escort at their side.

"Guess I'd best return to th' _Redfoam_ on this run m'self, make sure Tropps an' Potdar ain't let things go t' pot there while I was away doin' all th' hard work." Cordato turned to the ratmaid at the epicenter of these events. "You comin', Lattie? Don'tcher wanna hurry back to yer loverlad Paltryrat?"

Latura made a face. "Yuck! He ain't my fancy!"

Cordato grinned. "Guess somebeast fergot t' tell _'im_ that. So, comin'?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Stayin' here on th' shipkiller. Lotsa nooks 'n' crannies gotta stick my snout inta. Secrets I gotta find."

The male rat wasn't sure whether leaving Latura to her own devices aboard the _Seabolt_ was any better an idea than leaving the _Redfoam_ under Tropsa's oversight during this raid, but at last he just shrugged. "Have it yer way. Akter, Ramatar, keep an eye on our liddle seerwaif t' make sure she don't get in any trouble, or damage our new prize 'ere. Otherwise, jus' sit tight, an' soon we'll all be outta here!"

Akter thumbed over his shoulder at the roiling spot on the sea's surface beneath which both the _Gullslayer_ and the _Oyster Princess_ had just vanished, the searat survivors who'd not been pulled down with the wrecks or sucked down into the depths by the displacement now thrashing about in desperation or clinging to whatever debris would support them. "What about that lot, sir? We gonna do any cleain' up?"

"Naw, it'd be too much trouble, an' we got too much else t' do. Sharks're doin' a pretty good job so far of cleanin' up any messes we been leavin' behind. Let 'em feast here too, an' mebbe they'll repay th' favor by not scoffin' us if we ever go down ourselves!"

Taking his leave of the _Seabolt_ , Cordato climbed down onto _Fleetrunner Eleven_ , now bearing a double rowing crew, and rode it back to the Redfoam. Even though the galleon lay much farther away, they covered the distance nearly as quickly as they had between the _Oyster Princess_ and the _Seabolt_ ; with no net-towed refugees to worry about swamping, and buoyed by the elation of their victory, the oarsrats bent their backs to their task with a will, sending the fleetrunner veritably flying over the wavetops just as she had been designed to do.

They arrived to find the crew of the _Redfoam_ in a similar state of elation, reduced to the role of distant spectators as the raid had unfolded, onlookers who'd cheered wildly from deck and crow's nest and riggings as they came to see that their side had decisively won. If Tropsa had entertained any thoughts of taking over the _Redfoam_ for his own during Cordato's absence, those ambitions now lay in permanent ruin; Cordato had led them to victory over impossible odds, he now stood as the rebellion's unassailable champion, and no challenger would have any hope of supplanting his authority after today.

The _Redfoam_ 's rowing galley was quickly filled by searats and woodlanders, the formerly-putrid space scrubbed and swabbed during their layover in the Doldrums to make it as clean and inoffensive as possible, and soon the galleon had turned about and slowly cut her way through the sea toward the waiting _Seabolt_. _Fleetrunner Eleven_ was left where she was for the moment, a skeleton crew of four stationed aboard to guard the still-barricaded rat holed up in the stateroom; they'd pick up the spycraft once they were on their way out of the Doldrums with the _Seabolt_ in tow.

"So," Tropsa remarked to Cordato as both stood on the wheeldeck to either side of the pilot Gramaton, "that was quite some feat y' pulled off t'day … Cap'n. Capturin' a fleetrunner, usin' that t' capture Lattie's shipkiller, then usin' _that_ t' sink a frigate. An' then roundin' us up a whole passel o' new slaves t' help us run it all. Looks like this stratergy was th' right one after all, as cracked an' impossible as it seemed when Lattie first laid it all out to us. Guess congratulashuns're in order."

Cordato shot Tropsa a glance. "No need fer congrats. If I'd failed, you'd be just as dead as me, an' all th' rest o' us."

"Yah, there is that, I s'pose. So, anyways, now that we got outta that scrape with our tails intact, I was won'drin' if mebbe t'was time t' formalize things 'round 'ere a bit. Ev'ry rat aboard'll call you Cap'n now … but ev'ry cap'n needs a first mate."

"Oh, you wanna be first mate, do ya?"

"Can you name anyrat who'd make a better 'un?"

"No, prob'ly not. But I think I c'n do ya one better'n that. In case you ain't o' noticed, we're not just one ship anymore; we're a fleet. You been hankerin' fer a command o' yer own, so now … " Cordato motioned back behind them at _Fleetrunner Eleven_ , then ahead toward the _Seabolt_. "Take yer pick!"

Unbeknownst to the scheming captains, Latura had plans of her own for the _Seabolt_ to supercede theirs. Even had she not overheard the report Cordato had taken from the scouts who swept the _Seabolt_ 's lower decks, she'd have known he was here, somewhere. And so, as the assault team and their freed woodland rats bided their time topside waiting for the _Redfoam_ to rendezvous with them, Latura followed her perceptions through the companionways and holds, coming at last to the spot where they had led her.

The wretched captive, shackled to the wall in the empty cargo space deep in the bowels of the former _Goodwill,_ didn't even look up to acknowledge her presence. But that didn't stop her from putting on a cheerful grin and bestowing a friendly wave of greeting upon the bound creature.

"Oh, there you are! Hullo, Cap'n Mousey!"


	47. Chapter XLVI

**XLVI.**

 **FOXGUARD**

When Tolar ventured beyond the walls of Foxguard to bring Vermilya in for questioning, the Sword made sure not to go alone.

His armed party, a dozen strong, drew stares from the encamped hordesbeasts as he rounded the north curve of the perimeter wall to approach Bryn's valley fighters and the vixens living amongst them. To Tolar's mild dismay, Jaffox was out here too, and the hulking dogfox met the swordsbeasts on the fringes of the gathering, with Joska hanging on at his side.

"I'm here for Vermilya," Tolar announced, wasting not a breath on unnecessary banter. "I need to question her further about what happened with Sappakit."

"Ah, yes, terrible thing, that. Left her real shaken, as I'm sure y' can imagine. Not sure she's up fer takin' any more questions, poor pretty thing. Quite a traumatic incident fer so young an' tender a beast as she t' hafta endure. She'll need some quiet time alone t' recover her wits."

"Then I'll question her quietly. Now where is she?"

"Right where she wants t' be, Sword. 'Mongst th' creatures she's known an' lived with fer seasons, where she'll feel most at ease an' best recover from this tragedy she was cursed t' witness. An' she's made it plain that that's where she wants t' be. So why don't you jus' turn around an' head back inta yer fine red home, an' leave me 'n' my fighters to ourselves?"

" _Your_ fighters? They sworn allegiance to Lord Urthblood, not you - which means my orders to them supersede any that you've given them, and since this is Foxguard - "

"Technik'ly," Jaffox cut in, "this _ain't_ Foxguard." The big fox pointed toward the looming fortress, then down at his footpaws. "In there … an' out here. Two diff'rent things, Sword - especially seein' as how you ain't seen fit to allow any o' these sworn allies t' camp inside yer walls. Two diff'rent things - as ye'll find out if you step too far past yerself here."

"Where they camp is immaterial; they're either sworn to Lord Urthblood's service, or they're an intrusive presence who need to be chased far from our walls. One or the other. And if this isn't Foxguard where we're standing, then why is my new second-in-command spending so much time out here with these creatures? I'd say you've made them a part of Foxguard more than any decree of mine ever could."

Bryn and his own second-in-command Moyd came forward from the onlooking horde to join Jaffox. "Problem 'ere?"

Jaffox, a scowl having replaced his previous smug and superior expression, replied, "Naught fer you t' worry 'bout, 'tenant. Look to yer fighters, an' let me handle this."

Tolar, sensing the momentum of this confrontation had shifted in his favor, ignored Jaffox and addressed Bryn directly. "The vixen, Vermilya. Where is she?"

The ferret glanced uncertainly from Tolar to Jaffox and back again, clearly seeking direction from the brutish Northlander on how to proceed, but Jaffox gave away nothing. "Um, she's out here, with us. Real upset, she is, over what 'appened."

"So I've gathered. Take me to her, Lieutenant Bryn." Tolar emphasized the rank, to remind everybeast present where things stood, and who was in charge here.

"Actshully," Jaffox interceded, "he don't gotta do that. Vermilya ain't a soldier or member o' Lord Urthblood's forces t'all - just a civilian. So yer orders 'n' edicts don't hold any sway over her. She don't hafta do anything you tell 'er."

"She was admitted to Foxguard, as a companion to my seniormost brigade member. That gives me jurisdiction over her."

"She ain't in Foxguard now … an' she ain't his companion no more. I'd say that rather cuts her off from yer jurisdiction."

This implied mention of Sappakit's fate pushed Tolar over the edge. "Well, if she really is 'just a civilian' and outside the chain of command, then you have no authority whatsoever to forbid me from talking to her, since you _are_ in the chain of command, and your place in that chain is, need I remind you, below mine. So we'll do this my way, and you will _not_ interfere. Haddican, Dijax, lead your sweeps teams through this encampment. Turn it upside down, inside out and tear it apart until we find the vixen we're looking for. And if anybeast tries to stop you, use whatever force you deem necessary - up to and including lethal force." This last part he directed pointedly at Bryn, an appeal to the ferret's regard for his own beasts which might outweigh Jaffox's view of the valley vermin as expendable.

It worked. "Hey, no need fer that, Sword. I'll take y' over t' where all th' vixens are. She's there with 'em."

Jaffox just glowered, falling into step along with Bryn and Tolar's squad. Joska continued to hover at his side, looking more worried than she wanted to let on.

In short order they were among the valley horde's vixens, or at least those who'd not yet paired up with a swordfox to reside within Foxguard. There cowering in their midst they found Vermilya, staring up at Tolar and his foxes with eyes wide and fearful. Some of her fellow female foxes clustered close about her, lending support through their proximity.

"I need to talk to you more. About Sappakit," he told her.

"I already told you all I know … all I 'member," she replied.

"Maybe you forgot something - some small, overlooked detail. Maybe talking about it more will jog your memory."

"Nothin' more t' say. Told ya all I know. Now I just wanna forget all about it, forget it ever happened."

"And you'll be able to just that - once I've questioned you about it one last time. Come with us, please."

"No! I don't wanna go with you, back inside that place!"

"You've nothing to fear - unless it comes out that you played a direct part in the death of one of my brigade. You didn't do that - did you?"

"Question 'er here, then," Jaffox proposed. "Let 'er answer to her innocence right here, in front of ev'rybeast. If y' ain't got anything t' hide, Sword."

"What makes you so sure she's innocent?"

"Well, now, question like that makes it pretty plain _you_ think she's not. No wonder she's terrified what'll happen if she goes inta Foxguard with you."

"You're forgetting one thing, Jaffox."

"Oh? An' what's that?"

"You don't give the orders here. Take her."

Two of his swordfoxes waded into the group of vixens and seized Vermilya by the arms, eliciting whimpers and yelps of fearful protest from her and equally vociferous rebukes from the other vixens. With his desired witness - and perhaps perpetrator - quite literally in paw, Tolar led the way out of the encampment and back around to the fortress entrance, through which he and his fellow foxes disappeared into Foxguard with Vermilya.

It escaped the notice of nobeast that Jaffox elected to remain outside with Joska.

"What're we gonna do now?" the false seer demanded of Jaffox in a panic. "He's gonna interrogate her!"

"So? He interrogated 'er once before, an' didn't get anything from 'er he could use."

"Not like he will now. You saw his face. This time he'll turn the screws on her t' make her squeal, an' then she'll tell him ev'rything!

"Ev'rything?" Jaffox scoffed. "An' just what'll that be? That she implored of you a lover's tonic, which you graciously provided without fee as a favor to a fellow vixen smitten with springlust, an' she availed herself of it to ensure a successful night o' passion with her new favored dog? T'was all innocent, an' like as not nuthin' Tolar ain't figgered out fer himself already."

"Innocent, huh? What about her instructions to lure him out to the canal? What about who _gave_ her those instructions?"

"If yer sister Imara's as good at hypnotizin' beasts an' plantin' suggestions in their heads as you 'n' she claim, Vermilya won't even 'member that it t'weren't her own idea. In fact, if Imara's only half as good as that, Vermilya'll never be able t' tell anybeast where that suggestion came from."

"Normally, I'd share your faith in my sister's abilities; she learned from me, after all, even if she did go on to become the better enchantress between the two of us. But Tolar's got a vixen of his own, an' that Mona's a witch if ever there was one. She might be able to break the spell, get through to Vermilya and make her remember how we planted that compulsion in her. And if that happens, not even you will be able to protect us, and then it'll be me and Imara in the interrogation chair - an' after that, you."

"You didn't see me kill Sappakit. You didn't see _anybeast_ kill Sappakit. So I'd be mighty careful who you go making such accusations to. Fer all _I_ know, th' poor sod got drunk, couldn't hold his wine, an' fell off that barge, doin' himself in without anybeast's help. Could say 'ee got lucky, then he got unlucky - real unlucky."

"Hmm. And what if Tolar gets around to interrogating you?"

"Like t' see 'im try, sweetie, like t' see 'im try. In my line o' work, _I'm_ th' one who does the interrogatin' - tho' I usually just skip that part an' cut right to th' jugular."

"We could've taken him out just now, and been done with all this. There was only a dozen of 'em, an' we had Bryn's whole horde out here, who'd've done whatever you ordered. Why didn't you just end it once and for all, and claim Foxguard for your own? They'd not have stood a chance."

"Because we gotta do this a certain way. Gotta keep th' Gawtrybe on our side, or at least neutral, like I keep tellin' ya. 'Sides, if you don't think a dozen of Tolar's brigade coulda slew a whole lotta us 'fore they went down, you ain't been lissenin' to what I been tellin' ya."

"Don't need your words to know that; I was there when one of their pups bested you, remember?"

"Grrrr … "

"But I still say if we'd ambushed 'em, taken them down by surprise and caught off guard, that would've been the best way to handle this, instead of these dangerous games you're playing."

"Ah, but it's a game I know very well, an' one I intend t' win, without violatin' any of Lord Urthblood's primary edicts, if I may. An ambush might've won us the battle today, but it likely woulda lost us th' war, an' cost us the Gawtrybe's support. But I ain't worried, an' you shouldn't be neither. If Tolar could prove anything, he'd not be pussyfootin' around intimidatin' bedmates instead o' warriors. He may be angry, but he's also scared, 'cos he's lost his most trusted lieutenant, an' he feels th' walls closin' in, an' the noose tight'nin' 'round 'is neck. You just keep yer head an' keep from panickin' yerself, an' ye'll see soon 'nuff it'll be our great Sword who'll be panicking!"

 **THE** _ **REDFOAM**_

Lathrop knew he was lucky to be alive … and at this point, that was pretty much all he knew.

Chained labor had returned to the rowing galley of the _Redfoam_ , even if Lathrop himself represented the entirety of that one-rat slave team. Once the rebels had succeeded in capturing the _Seabolt_ and destroying the _Gullslayer_ , the sole survivor of _Fleetrunner Eleven_ who'd holed himself up inside the spycraft's stateroom represented no kind of real danger, and the raiders had promised to spare his life if he came out on his own, saving them the chore of chopping their way in to get at him. Lacking food or water in his barricaded cabin, and witnessing through the porthole what had happened to the frigate, he knew there would be no rescue now, and no point in delaying the inevitable.

Fortunately, the rebels stuck to their word and refrained from slaying him upon his emergence from the stateroom. Unfortunately, sparing his life did not mean granting him his freedom, and he quickly found himself trading his fleetrunner cabin confines for a seat in the galleon's rowing galley, held fast by the improvised arrangement of chain securing him to bench and oar.

Other rats toiled at the oar handles all around him, but he was the only one bound into place. All the others seemed to be former slaves, performing their labors as a matter of choice and necessity, free of rope or chain and held to their stations solely through their shared sense of purpose. No galley master stalked up and down the center aisle with threatening whip in paw, and no drummer beat out a rhythm to keep the rowers in merciless time. It was all done through a spirit of shared destiny - tired and desperate, perhaps, but free nonetheless.

One thing they did not share was any kind words or sympathetic looks toward him. He was one of Them, the searat masters against whom they were in revolt, and they cared not that he'd been a mere deckpaw himself, pulling oars and shaping sails and swabbing decks aboard _Fleetrunner Eleven_ , and aboard other ships of the Fleet before that. By their appearance, they seemed to nearly all be land rats, and given what Lathrop knew of the way _they_ were being treated - by both Urthblood and Tratton - he didn't doubt that they nursed a very large grudge against any searat still loyal to King and Empire.

Which led him to wonder just whether that still applied to him. Even if he somehow survived this and rejoined his fellow searats, the punishment he'd face for being part of a crew - the sole survivor of that very crew - who allowed a fleetrunner to fall into the paws of rebel slaves, who then used that spyboat to seize the _Seabolt_ and sink the _Gullslayer_ , would make his life not worth living, if not forfeit at once. No matter what cruelties or indignities his current captors heaped upon him, those would pale in comparison to what he'd face from the pitiless rulers of the Searat Empire. But he also knew any attempt to switch allegiance now and swear loyalties to the rebels would meet with scorn, ridicule and most likely beatings. And even a change of sides would avail him little, since this rebellion was doomed to failure, as all rebellions against Tratton must be. Either way, he was not getting out of this alive.

Into the midst of these fatalistic ruminations intruded the chief of his tormentors. Down the short stairway at the head of the galley stomped the one Lathrop recognized as the captain of these rebels, the one who'd ordered him put in chains. At his side hovered a slight and homely ratmaid who, in spite of her borrowed searat garb, was clearly no kind of nautical beast.

Cordato stopped to stand over the galley's one and only current oarslave. "So, how ya settlin' in down 'ere, matey?"

Lathrop paused in his rowing to look up at the slave commander. He had his bench to himself, none of the freed slaves caring to share such close proximity with him, so he could take a break without bringing anyrat else's work to a halt.

Cordato's face darkened. "Didn't say you could stop."

Heaving a resigned sigh, Lathrop leaned into his oar handle once more, falling into time with his fellow rowers.

"An' I didn't hear ya say 'thank you' fer sparin' yer worthless, flea-ridden hide. I'm gettin' th' notion you may not be properly grateful."

Lathrop returned Cordato's smug scowl with a more subdued glower of his own. "Ye're all gonna die, y' know.. Each an' ev'ry one o' ye."

Cordato's expression turned to a grim grin. "None o' us gets outta this world alive. But there's dyin', an' there's dyin', an' we're settin' our own terms here. Tratton'll rue th' day he slapped any of us in chains!"

"An' he'll make _you_ rue th' day you decided to oppose him. You got any idea what 'ee does to slaves who rebel?"

"Kills 'em, would be my guess. But we ain't ready t' lay down an' die just yet."

"Now or later, it's all th' same. No revolt 'gainst Tratton's ever succeeded - by slaves, or by his own cap'ns."

Cordato's face lit up evilly. "Ah, but we got sumpthin' no other revolt's had: our own genuine prophet! An' the real deal, too. She told us how t' capture the _Redfoam_ from Trangle when he 'n' his crew took sick, an' she told us how t' take out a dreadnought. You heard o' the _Skyburn_? Well, y' won't no more, 'cos we put 'er on th' bottom of th' sea! An' t'was she who warned us to be in th' Doldrums ahead o' ye, t' lay in wait fer her shipkiller t' come along, an' how to seize her. Throw in that frigate we sunk, along with yer own crew, an' that's hunnerds o' searats whose days we ended already. An' now that we got that shipkiller monstrosity, we're in a fine position t' slay hunnerds more. Who knows? Mebbe by th' time we're finished, Tratton won't have much of an Empire left."

Lathrop quailed at this picture presented to him. Even if his own life might be prolonged through additional rebel victories, that meant the end would only be all the more terrible when it came. And if these slaves' actions truly did imperil the Empire itself, that would put an end to everything Lathrop had come to know, plunging searatkind back into the eternal dark age where it was every captain for himself and brutal treachery ruled the sea. Feeling the need to say something, anything, against this dire vision, he countered, "Th' _Seabolt_ ain't neither inderstructable ner all-powerful. Ye'll not bring down the entire Empire with it, not when all Tratton's ships mass against you!"

" _Seabolt_? Is that whatcher caller it? Didn't see any name painted on 'er prow."

"That was what Clucus called it, so we did too. Prob'ly woulda become official, once she'd passed her sea trials, an' King Tratton gave his sanction."

"Oh, but she did pass 'er sea trials," Cordato taunted. "Passed 'em with flyin' colors, to th' tune o' one sunk frigate. She's ours now, so we gets t' call 'er what we like."

"Ratdeath," the clueless-looking waif said from alongside her commander. "Wanna call 'er Ratdeath."

"We ain't callin' her Ratdeath, Lattie. We been over that."

"Aw, why not? Kills lotsa rats, an' Martymouse ain't usin' it fer his sword no more."

"'Cos _we're_ rats too, Lattie, an' namin' it that would be bad luck."

"Ooo. Right. Luck."

Returning his attention to Lathrop, Cordato said, "There's just one problem with your bravado, friend. What if Tratton never gets a chance t' mass 'is ships 'gainst us? He can't even know his shipkiller's gone missing yet, 'specially if he's away on th' mainland like we've heard, an' even when he does find out, how long will it take him to get word throughout his Fleet? How many of his ships will we claim in th' meantime? Could be that by th' time he realizes he's gotta muster his Fleet 'gainst us, he'll not have much of a Fleet left t' muster!"

"Won't happen," Lathrop insisted defiantly. "Spymaster Uroza's expectin' the trial convoy back at Terramort in a few days, an' when it doesn't return, he'll send out fleetrunners to investergate. Then he'll know - an' it'll be all up fer you."

Cordato leaned in toward Lathrop with a relishing grin. "Now that just so happens t' be 'xactly th' kind of infermation we was hopin' t' get from you." His face and tone growing colder, he snapped off, "Lattie, take a look at 'im. A good, long look, an' tell me what y' see."

Latura only shook her head. "Ain't a darkrat, I c'n tell that already. Just a reg'lar rat."

"Well, take another look," Cordato gritted out. "We gotta be sure."

"Oh, alright." Cordato stepped aside to give the unimposing ratmaid room to go nose-to-whisker with Lathrop. The chained rat suddenly felt unnerved by this inspection, intimidated by this waif as he'd not been by the burly male rat. It was then, for the first time, that he began to fear these rebels might be able to accomplish just what their captain had boasted.

Latura shook her head again. "Nope, not a darkrat. But he don't like us much."

Cordato gave a curt laugh. "Aye, I guess he don't, do 'ee? Well, rat, this's yer lucky day, 'cos if Lattie'd determined you were one o' Uroza's spies, you'd be in the drink now with yer throat slit. We don't allow that sort t' live … an' thanks to Lattie, we'll allers know just which rats those are, no matter how much they try'n hide and blend in with others. Naw, ye'll just get t' enjoy our hospitality, 'til this's all over one way or the other. Who knows - we come out on top, we might just let you free t' live out th' rest o' yer seasons as you please."

"That won't happen," Lathrop said, sounding far less sure of himself than before. Then, as almost an afterthought, he added, "What does your seer see? Do you win, or does Tratton?"

Latura shrugged. "Can't see the end. All kinda cloudymurky. Only see what's in front o' me, as it needs t' be known."

"Yeah," said Cordato, "Lattie's gift ain't perfect, but it's been good 'nuff t' land us on top ev'rytime so far. Mebbe that's what Tratton needs: a prophet of 'is own!"

"Yah," Lathrop agreed hollowly, "mebbe he does."

Cordato stood back. "Well, that does it then. Not a single spyrat in any of that lot we took on from that fracas, not even from the spyboat 'erself. That'll stand us in good stead 'gainst any treachery, now that you've examined 'em all, Lattie. Come along - we got that Cap'n's meetin' to cobble t'gether an' hash out." Cordato's expression soured. " _All_ th' Cap'ns."


	48. Chapter XLVII

**XLVII.**

 **GRAYFOOT'S TAVERN**

"Think he'll make it?" Drewry wondered aloud, referring to the lone rat fugitive he'd just ushered out of Grayfoot's Tavern.

"I'd like to think so," replied the ferret proprietor, absently picking at the wound his dagger had made in the bar, a result of a moment's flared temper when the fleeing rat had dared to question Grayfoot's hospitality. Maybe some dark polish would help cover the gouge. "But it's none of our concern any longer."

"Oi reckern 'ee moight be ee last ratter uz'll see in 'ere," Blerim the mole mused.

"That he might," agreed Grayfoot. "The way things are goin', he might be the last free rat left in all of Mossflower." He picked up another glass and started polishing it. "One thing's fer sure - won't be the same 'round here without 'em. Still, he shouldn'ta been travellin' durin' the day."

"Guess nobeast told _him_ that," Drewry responded, rustling his spikes over the unsavoriness of this entire enterprise, or at least the reasons necessitating it. "Tho' they shoulda. Safe bet our hare friends wouldn'ta overlooked a detail like that, so musta been somebeast else. We allers coulda let 'im stay 'til sundown … "

"No we couldnt'a," Grayfoot begged to differ. "We're taking risks enuff just provisionin' them an' sending them out to the Plains. Gawtrybe catch onta what we been doin', we'll be in fer a world of trouble."

As if he'd invoked that very trouble, the front door to the tavern swung open, the bright daylight silhouetting a pair of bushy-tailed, tufted-eared figures. As the door closed, casting the tavern's interior into gloom once more, the two squirrels Grayfoot and his companions least wanted to see in all of Mossflower approached the counter, although they refrained from taking seats for themselves or leaning against the bar, instead holding to rigid, official stances as they stood regarding the ferret, mole and hedgehog.

"Captain," said Mina coldly, "you have some explaining to do."

Grayfoot's gaze went from the Gawtrybe Lady to Custis and back again. "Actshully, marm, that's 'retired Captain.' I ain't in Lord Urthblood's service no more. Now, can I get ya anything to drink? That's what I do here nowadays."

"From all appearances," said Custis, with a voice to match Mina's in frostiness, "it would seem you do a lot more these days. Now tell us about the rat we just observed leaving your establishment."

"Rat? There was a rat in here? Musta missed it."

Mina's tone turned to ice. "This is not something you want to treat lightly, Captain."

"Retired Cap'n, 'member? An' I was down in th' cellar just now, checkin' my stocks." Grayfoot turned to the other two woodlanders. "Was there a rat in 'ere when I was downstairs?"

"Well, now that y' mention it, yeah, there may've been," answered the hedgehog, scratching absently at his chin. "Sent 'im away with a cheer an' a kick. Didn't bother tellin' you, since he couldn'ta bought anything." He bared his teeth at the two squirrels. "Didn't have any Realms on 'im, y' see."

"All rats are to be reported and detained," Custis bit off, his rage boiling slowly and dangerously beneath his fur.

The hedgehog's grin widened. "Not by me they ain't. Nor by Blerim 'ere neither. We're Redwallers, an' yer bully's rules don't apply t' us. If we see rats, we'll treat 'em as they deserves t' be treated, an' not be bound to edicts we don't approve of an' never agreed t' be part of."

"By all rights, we should arrest you all for interfering with Lord Urthblood's campaign."

The hedgehog's grin turned darker, creating an expression which might have made babes cry with fright. "Naw, don't think you wanna be doin' _that_."

Mina struck a more conciliatory tone, if only barely. "Maybe we don't have dominion over Redwaller's abroad in Mossflower … " She turned to Grayfoot. "But _you_ were sent here by direct order of Lord Urthblood, to establish this tavern and start a family and serve as the living embodiment of everything he hopes to achieve in the lands. You would not have anything you have now - including your friendship with Redwall - if not for His Lordship. So invoke your retired status all you want, but if we discover you have been aiding and abetting fugitives covered by our mandate, things will not go well for you."

"Well, then I hope you never find such a thing, Lady."

Custis stuck to his intimidating tack. "You think we're here by accident? That we just happened by to see that rat sneaking away into the Plains? We've known for some time that numbers of rats were somehow eluding our sweeps … and the harder we looked, the more we realized their pawprints all led this way."

"Not all of 'em, surely," Drewry jibed. "I'm sure we'da been overwhelmed if that'd been th' case. Think I'da 'membered that!"

A grim satisfaction spread over the Gawtrybe captain's face. "Well then, we'll just wait and see what that rat has to say for himself after we apprehend him. We've been following him through Mossflower for some time, and he seemed to know right where to go. Now why would he think it would be safe to enter an inn run by a former officer of the very badger whose campaign requires him to be resettled?"

"Lotsa beasts in Mossflower seem not t' know who I am, or that I ever served Lord Urthblood. From how little business I've gotten since openin' this joint, reckon I'm one of th' best-kept secrets in these lands!"

"Laugh it up, maskface. But we'll see if you're still laughing by the time this day ends!"

Drewry look to Blerim. "Did he just call our good fine host here 'maskface'?"

"Burr hurr, oi do berlieve 'ee did. T'weren't verry noice, no zurr."

Custis looked from ferret to hedgehog to mole. "You think there's safety in numbers? Then I have some very bad news for you. Lady Mina and I hardly came alone - and, depending on what we learn from that rat outside, you may not find safety anywhere this day!"

The tavern door opened a second time, half-admitting a solitary squirrel who paused straddling the threshold. Allowing a moment for his eyes to adjust, he then focused on his two fellow Gawtrybe. "Captain, Lady, we have the fugitive. He's out in the road now, awaiting interrogation."

Mina gave the three tavernbeasts a searching gaze. "Going to join us for this?"

Grayfoot looked around and shrugged, coming out from behind his bar. "May's well see th' show. Ain't like I got customers to wait on or anything."

The five of them followed the scout outdoors into the bright day, where they found the familiar rat kneeling in the path, surrounded by no fewer than a half dozen additional Gawtrybe guarding him in a contemptuous half-circle. The prisoner stared up at Grayfoot, Drewry and Blerim with wide, frightened eyes; the ferret noticed that the hapless creature had not possessed the presence of mind to jettison the distinctive camouflaged travel pack bestowed upon him during his brief stop at the inn.

"Look familiar to you?" Custis taunted the suspected accomplices.

Grayfoot gave silent thanks that the Gawtrybe captain had not jumped right to interrogating the rat, allowing the barkeep the chance to set the tone for this confrontation, and let the captive know exactly where things stood as far as he was concerned. "Never seen this beast before in my life," Grayfoot declared, his gaze boring into the rat's eyes in intently meaningful fashion that not even the most slow-witted of creatures could misinterpret.

Perhaps picking up on the signal the ferret sought to convey to the prisoner, Custis grabbed up the provision pack and practically flung it in Grayfoot's face. "Then how do you explain this? He didn't have this on him before, when we were trailing him through Mossflower. Seems rather neatly assembled for a panicked, fleeing rat to have put together, and fresh and unused too. Are you sure we'll not find others just like it if we conduct a search of your premises?"

"You prob'ly would," Drewry cut in before anybeast else could speak. "We leave stuff like that layin' about sometimes … fer our own uses, o' course. This one musta helped himself to it when I wasn't lookin'. Bad rattie!"

The rat returned the hedgehog's stare, his expression showing how much at a loss he was. Of course Grayfoot had warned, upon presenting the rodent with the pack a short time earlier, not to divulge to the Gawtrybe where he'd gotten it if he were captured, and that all aid to the fugitive would be disavowed under such circumstances. But would the ferret now truly hang him out to dry, forswearing any and all knowledge of his assistance and washing his paws of the matter completely? From what Grayfoot and Drewry had said here so far, it seemed so.

Seeing he'd get nothing from the tavern trio, Custis shifted tactics and turned to fully face his prisoner. "What do you have to say to any of this, rat?"

Grayfoot and his companions tried not to be too obvious about the fact that they were holding their breaths, waiting to see whether the creature they'd risked so much to assist would now repay their kindness with betrayal, even though he must also have realized it would be his word against theirs.

At last, the rat surprised everybeast there by neither confirming nor denying the Gawtrybe's accusations, but instead adopting a third tack. "I want sanctuary!" he burst out in desperation. "I'm requestin' sanctuary from ya!"

Custis did not miss that the rat had aimed his plea squarely at Grayfoot. "Now that's most curious. Whatever would have given this rat the idea that this tavern would stand as a safe house for him?"

Grayfoot stared hard at the captive. "Well, I'm sure you misheard 'im, Cap'n. Pretty sure he musta meant t' invoke the sanctuary o' Redwall, since I got none t' give here."

The rat picked up on Grayfoot's lead, having nothing else left to work with. Nodding rigorously, he stammered, "Aye, aye, Redwall!"

Custis gave a cold laugh. "You're half a day south of that Abbey, which makes you half a day from any help they can give you. This territory's under Gawtrybe jurisdiction, which means our laws hold here, not Redwall's."

Drewry stepped forward. "Not so fast. Just so happens I'm a Redwaller, an' so's my pal here. We both just heard this creature ask fer the protection of our good home, so we're obliged t' extend it to him. We're takin' this rat an' escortin' him to Redwall, under our good graces."

Custis gaped at the hedgehog's audacity, but quickly recovered. "You must not have been listening just now when I stated that this area now falls under Gawtrybe jurisdiction. Now, I see one unarmed 'hog and one unarmed mole, against my very well-armed squad. So try your luck if you care to - but bear in mind, your decision could well have lethal consequences."

Drewry seemed about to argue his point, when a flash of movement from the southernmost visible extent of the road caught his eye, drawing his gaze that way. "Now what in th' fur an' tarnation is _that_?"

Custis kept his gaze fixed on the Abbeybeast. "No lame attempts at diversion. How stupid do you think we - "

But Mina cut off her fellow squirrel, having followed Drewry's gaze herself. "Captain, I think our expected guest has chosen this moment to make his appearance in this part of Mossflower."

Now Custis did tear his eyes away from the hedgehog to look south, and he immediately shared Mina's assessment. This far away, he could discern only that it was a fairly large company that approached now, scores strong - and that above them they bore banners of two strikingly different and competing designs, signalling that this must indeed be the mixed entourage Klystra had informed them to expect.

"Well, this is just … " Custis muttered, leaving the thought unfinished. Turning to his underlings, he pointed to the rat and barked, "Keep a close eye on this one, and make sure he doesn't try anything. Right now he's just the way I like him - on his knees - so let's see to it that he stays that way."

The Redwallers, mystified at to who these newcomers might be, looked to Custis and Mina. "You know who they are?" Drewry prompted.

"We can make a pretty good guess, yes," Mina replied.

"Well? Care t' let us in on th' secret?"

"It will become clear soon enough, since - unless I miss my guess - this party is bound for Redwall."

"Redwall?" Drewry repeated in indignation. "An' you knew they was comin'? Woulda been nice o' you to've told us. So who are they anyway?"

"Just travellers, journeying abroad to see lands they've never seen before. Surely Redwall would not close their gates to such creatures?"

"T'would depend on who they are, wouldn't it? We'll sure not be lettin' in any more o' you Gawtrybe this season or next."

"Then I'm afraid some of this party at paw will be camping outside your walls. As for the rest … let's just say I'd almost want to be there myself to see what kind of reception they receive from the Abbey."

"Nobeast'll stop you - long as y' don't ask t' be let in yerself, 'cos that ain't happenin' this season or next neither."

Mina let the conversation drop at this turn, stung by the delight with which the hedgehog had reminded her of her banishment from Redwall, and she stepped away to join Custis in staring southward toward the nearing journeybeasts.

Long before the parade of newcomers resolved enough to be clearly identified by species, a giant winged form spiralled slowly down out of the sky, alighting upon the road amidst them. Grayfoot and the Redwallers saw right away that it was too big to be a gull and realized as it descended that it must be one of Urthblood's command birds; Mina and Custis, meanwhile, showed surprise upon seeing that this was no mere avian officer but the head of them all, Commodore Altidor.

The rat, for his own part, nearly fainted on his knees.

The Gawtrybe captain favored the great golden eagle with a respectful nod of acknowledgment. "Commodore. What news do you bring from Salamandastron?"

"Nothing you shouldn't know already. I assume Captain Klystra appraised you of the identity of our … guest in Mossflower?"

"He did," Mina replied for both of them, picking up on Altidor's reluctance to reveal any sensitive information to unauthorized ears. "Where is Klystra? We expected to see him flying escort, not you - if that is in fact your present duty."

"It is. Captain Klystra was chosen to deliver the account of Trelayne's death to Lord Urthblood, since he witnessed that incident first-talon."

This revelation, dropped so casually into the exchange between bird and squirrels, stunned both Grayfoot and the Redwallers. "Wait what - Trelayne is dead?" the ferret asked in wide-eyed disbelief.

The eagle turned to him. "He is. Slain in an unfortunate and tragic twist of circumstance. We'll spare you the full details now, but you will learn them in due time, no doubt."

Altidor, Custis and Mina all shared a common desire to let the shock over the news of the glassmaker marten's death blunt any further probes into other facets of the situation, such as the identity of Trelayne's killer, or why Klystra would have to fly anywhere to deliver his report to Urthblood, if that badger still presumably dwelt at Salamandastron. Some things could be tipped to the residents of Mossflower, but others they did not need to know.

And the true identity of one particular creature they were soon to meet qualified as something they most definitely were _not_ meant to know.

Altidor looked to the kneeling, apprehensive rat, and thence to the trio from the tavern. "Did I interrupt something here?"

"Just a routine apprehension," Custis replied. "Or at least it would have been, if not for the evidence that he may have been rendered help in trying to elude us."

Altidor looked blankly between the assembled land beasts for a few moments before comprehension dawned on his beaked face. "Ah. Resistance to the resettlement campaign. Well, we knew to perhaps expect such from Redwall."

"This … might not have been from Redwall. Or at least not exclusively."

Altidor took the squirrel's meaning at once, attention fastening on the ferret. "Is this true, Captain?"

"Retired Captain, as I keep tellin' ev'rybeast 'round here. An' I admit to no such thing, an' I'd like to see anybeast prove otherwise."

"So you do not 'admit' to it - a stance I would expect you to take in any event. Hmm. This complication was not foreseen."

"If anybeast helped that rat - an' I ain't sayin' they did - then it was us Redwallers, who oppose yer Purge on ev'ry front," Drewry practically boasted, Blerim nodding his velvety head in solidarity alongside him. "Got a problem with rats runnin' free in Mossflower an' p'raps slippin' through yer grasp, take it up with our Abbess - but be warned, she swings a mean sword these days. May'aps she'll be swingin' it th' Gawtrybe's way, 'specially if you step too far beyond yerselves here 'n' now."

Custis rounded on the hedgehog. "Did you just threaten forces of Lord Urthblood's?!"

"Me, threaten? Naw, I'd never do that. But seems t' me you brushtails're actin' mighty horde-like these days … an' Redwall's got a long history o' chewin' up an' spittin' out hordes who caused trouble in Mossflower. Draw yer own conclusions, treejumper."

"Don't let him goad you, Captain," Mina coolly advised her fellow Gawtrybe. "The truth will come out in its own good time, and then we will act accordingly, even if that action remains limited to escorting this 'hog and mole back to Redwall under armed guard, and making sure they stay there. The important thing is that we have closed off this route as any possible path for escape for additional rats, and know to pay special attention to this approach."

This fell far short of satisfying Custis. "And what of those who may have already escaped into the Plains? Our evidence suggests they may number a considerable amount."

"Even if that's the case, where would they hide? Where would they go? The Plains don't exactly constitute the most secure of safe havens, with their barren openness. If rats are there, they'll be spotted and rounded up in good time. They can't help but be. For now, we have a more immediate concern - or a score and a half of immediate concerns, if Klystra's count was accurate."

"It was," Altidor affirmed. "The company from the coast numbers thirty, with that many more Gawtrybe escorting them." The eagle gazed down the road. "As you will soon see for yourselves."

And see for themselves they soon did. The marchers to the south turned from an indistinct mob of many beasts pounding the path in unison to a unified if dichotomous company split between two clearly distinguishable species, each bearing its own identifying standard: the crimson pennant of the Badger Lord of Salamandaston contrasted with the red, black and green tricolor of the sea ruler. Grayfoot's eyes went wide and his jaw slack upon recognizing the flag of his former enemy, while Drewry and Blerim joined him in dumbfoundedness a short time later upon realizing fully half the group bearing down on them consisted of rats … and no manner of rat seen in Mossflower for many, many generations.

Grayfoot had turned to Altidor and the Gawtrybe long before individual beasts came clearly into view, staggered by the standard he saw being held aloft alongside Urthblood's. "Searats? Here in Mossflower?"

"Why not?' Custis replied dismissively, partly to cover his own considerable misgivings over the situation. "The Accord has brought peace between Salamandastron and Terramort, and the wars are in the past. That means searats are free to travel where they wish, and we will not move to restrict them."

"Did that come direct from Lord Urthblood 'imself?" the ferret guessed.

"As a matter of fact, yes, it did."

Drewry stood not so much flabbergasted as appalled by this. "These're our lands, our woods, our home! Y' got no right allowin' their ilk anywhere near this close t' Redwall!"

"Hmm. Seems to me you Redwallers have been the ones screaming loudest this season about these lands belonging to everybeast and nobeast. Not quite so ready to practice what you preach when it comes to creatures you happen not to favor, are you? But why should you object? I'd assumed rats would pose no issue for you, judging by how you've sought to help them out." Custis shot a glance at the captive still kneeling and blanching in the road.

"That's diff'rent, an' you know it!" Grayfoot waded in. "You 'n' me, we both fought searats in our day, an' we know what they're all about even if these good folk don't. Cutthroat, merciless, barbaric brutes they are … "

"Not so barbaric that Lord Urthblood couldn't sign a treaty with them. This present company marches under a flag of truce, in peaceful cooperation with their Gawtrybe escorts. They're too small a force to pose any real threat to Redwall or Mossflower, so rest easy on that score. Their interests are purely diplomatic, and their curiosity … idle rather than tactical."

"Sez you. So, who're we gonna see in that gang? Won't be Tratton 'imself, will it?"

Custis and Mina traded knowing glances. "Don't be silly," the male squirrel scoffed. "You imagine the Searat King would venture so far into former enemy territory with a mere thirty troops at his side? No, it'll be one of his top captains, we're given to understand, serving as his envoy and representative. Still, it should be interesting."

"Yah," Grayfoot muttered. "Int'restin'."

The approaching company drew within hailing distance, faces and expressions clearly visible, yet no hails came from either side, the forest dwellers and the visitors from the coast taking each other's measure in intent, wordless scrutiny. Perhaps the Gawtrybe escorting the searats had known they must be approaching Grayfoot's Tavern, but they could not have anticipated arriving at this spot at the precise moment when their High Lady and the ranking commander of their squirrels in Mossflower would be standing here in the road to greet them … and they most certainly could not have foreseen the circumstances which had led to this confrontation between Mina and Custis and the retired ferret captain. The two squirrels exchanged a second meaningful glance, sharing each other's unspoken common thought: It must not become painfully obvious here that Redwall and Urthblood stood at such odds that arrest threats were being issued and the specter of further armed conflict was being thrown about and uttered aloud. No discovery of such inter-woodlander strife could be allowed to cheer the searat delegation, or provide incentive for Tratton to exploit this divide. However much it might gall them, they would have to swallow their gorge and put on their best face here - even if it meant turning a blind eye to any crimes Grayfoot might have been complicit in and allowing him to go free … at least for the moment.

The procession from the south halted a score of paces from Custis and Mina's squad, Poinsett looking on in clear surprise at finding two such luminaries just standing in the road in the middle of whatever business they were conducting here. Seizing the opportunity to speak with the newly-promoted sergeant in private before including the Redwallers in the conversation, Mina stepped across to Poinsett and the red-bedecked rat at her side.

"Welcome to Mossflower, Sergeant," she said in opening as Custis belatedly joined her, then turned to the rat, lowering her voice to make sure Grayfoot and the two Abbeybeasts wouldn't overhear. "Your Majesty, I presume?"

The ostentatiously-appointed rodent regarded her with his one uncovered eye. "That'd depend on who's askin', wouldn't it?" he responded with studied verminesque brusqueness.

"Lady Mina. High Lady of the Gawtrybe. So, if you're who we were told to expect, and who I take you to be, I guess that makes us both royalty." She motioned to her companion. "Captain Custis, commander of Lord Urthblood's Gawtrybe in Mossflower."

The red rat's demeanor changed at once, at least verbally, his tone and wording becoming more refined and urbane. "I see your Lord has spared no honor in receiving me. A queen and a general - most impressive."

"An accident of circumstance, truth be told, Your Majesty. The Captain and I happened to be here on matters unrelated to your presence. And some of the beasts you see out in front of this tavern are only just learning of your tour, and remain ignorant of your true identity - a state of affairs I would wish to maintain, as I'm sure you will understand."

"Ah. So you and the Captain will not be accompanying me to Redwall?"

Mina needed only a moment to envision how it would look if she journeyed to the Abbey with Tratton only for him to see the High Lady of the Gawtrybe being barred from admittance. "There are matters of the Accord to consider, Your Majesty. You have been promised all the rats of the lands as compensation for freeing your woodlander slaves, and that campaign is still fully underway here in Mossflower. I am aiding Captain Custis with those efforts in an advisory capacity, lending my authority to operations here. So, sadly, we will be unable to join you past this point, since duty calls us elsewhere."

"And how does Redwall feel about your involvement in what I believe has commonly come to be referred to as the Purge?"

Mina stiffened somewhat at both Tratton's insinuation of discord between herself and her adopted home and his invoking of the crude term for the resettlement campaign. "They understand - as I'm sure you'll discover for yourself when you speak with them - that I currently serve at the pleasure of Lord Urthblood and acquit myself according to the needs of Gawtrybe operations here in Mossflower, all in the interests of preserving the peace between Salamandastron and Terramort - a peace in which you yourself have apparently placed great stock, for you to be here now."

"Most perceptive of you, Lady. Yes, I suppose I am testing the Accord to its limits with this walking tour of mine, but if it goes well, it will underscore how solid that peace has become, won't it?" Noticing that Mina seemed to be studying him with heightened intensity, he asked, "You find me particularly interesting, Lady?"

"It's just that you dropped your affected searat accent and mannerisms so abruptly once you learned who I was, I'm wondering what you really look like, because I'm fairly certain it's not what my eye beholds now."

Tratton grinned, slipping somewhat back into character. "P'raps someday ye'll grace me with a visit o' yer own t' Terramort, my sweet, an' then ye'll find out, harr harr!"

"Um, no, thanks. I'll stick with the forests and trees of the mainland, if you don't mind, Your Majesty."

"Well, now that I've got my mask back on, y' might's well introduce me to th' rest o' yer liddle gatherin' 'ere … "

"If you wish … although none are beasts of any consequence." Turning, Mina led the incognito Searat King and Sergeant Poinsett over to the others; Custis followed along, as mute as Poinsett and content to let his High Lady do all the talking now that she'd taken command of the situation. Of course Talarek joined them too, not about to be away from his sovereign's side for one moment, especially after the incident with Trelayne.

Waving her paw to indicate the ferret, Mina said, "This is Grayfoot, retired captain of Lord Urthblood's forces and current proprietor of the establishment you see before you."

"Retired, eh?" Tratton responded, in character. "Didn't s'pose any commander o' that badger's army was ever allowed t' do that."

"Grayfoot had special leave from Lord Urthblood to do so, and I trust he'll be the first to tell you how much more agreeable he find the climate and environment here in Mossflower as compared to the Northlands. As to his two assistants, I'm afraid I don't know their names off the top of my head, but they've both been lent by Redwall to help good Grayfoot with his brewing, serving and, it would appear, certain other activities unrelated to barkeeping."

"Name's Drewry," the hedgehog grudgingly introduced himself.

"An' oi be Blerim ee moler," the mole added, identifying himself by both name and, quite unnecessarily, species.

Tratton's face lit up in cartoonish exaggeration, as a simple, brutish, stereotypical searat captain's might. "Ah, Redwallers! First o' these beasties we've run inta! Been mighty curious 'bout them Abbeydwellers, so famous an' legendary they are! So this's what they're like, eh?"

The act worked; Drewry and Blerim regarded Tratton with a disdain both suspicious and dismissive, a low regard they would never have expressed toward this strange rat had they any inkling of who he truly was. "Redwallers come in all shapes 'n' sizes, rat," Drewry spat, "an' you'd be best advised not t' judge us all by whatcha see before you now."

Tratton kept up his affected grin. "Good thing then that's where I'm headed, so's I c'n see fer m'self what Redwall's all about."

"Mebbe that's where ye're headed, friend, but you lot gettin' past our gate's another matter. We're kinda picky these days 'bout who we let in." Drewry looked past Tratton to Poinsett's Gawtrybe. "Those bushtails ain't gettin' in, that's fer sure."

Tratton raised an interested eyebrow over this allusion to the rumored strife between Redwall and Urthblood; coming on the heels of Mina's revelation that she'd not be accompanying them to the Abbey, the Searat King felt he was getting closer to the core of this matter everybeast seemed to be dancing around. "Oh? An' why's that?"

"Why's that? Reckon ye'll get an earful an' a half all 'bout _that_ once you get t' Redwall. Or you could step inside our ferret friend's saloon, take a seat fer a few an' enjoy some o' his fine brews while I regale ya with all that's been happ'nin' in Mossflower this season. So, what's yer name, anyway? We toldja ours, but I never heard yers."

Mina stepped in to reassert some control over this conversation, about to make the introductions before realizing Tratton had not yet revealed to her the alias under which he travelled. "Allow me to introduce … um … "

"Redclaw," the searat provided with a smirk. "Cap'n Redclaw, o' King Tratton's Royal an' Imperial Navy. Not hard t' remember."

"Nay, in yer case, t'ain't," Drewry agreed, looking Tratton's red aspect up and down.

"'ow can ee navy be both royal an' impeereeuhl?" Blerim wondered aloud.

Tratton/Redclaw smiled at the mole. "'is Majesty is just that good, I guess."

"How'd y' lose that eye?" Drewry asked, being blatantly forward in typical hedgehog fashion.

"Oh, this?" Tratton gestured at his eyepatch with the sudden realization that, now that he'd met actual Redwallers, he'd no longer have the option of switching it between eyes as he'd been doing, and would have to keep it over the same eye for the duration of his stay at the Abbey. "I lost it to a pike, or sumpthin' like that."

"Sumpthin' like that?" Drewry repeated, incredulous. "If it'd happened t' me, I'd sure remember 'xactly how it happened."

Tratton refused to show he'd been caught without a proper backstory for his supposedly-missing orb. "Thing about bein' cap'n is, myth carries more weight'n th' truth. How'd I lose my eye, ye ask? Mebbe t'morrer I'll give ye a diff'rent story than t'day, dependin' on which story serves me best in the end. Get right down t' it, how I lost this eye's far less 'portant than how other beasts _think_ I lost it, an' what it makes 'em think o' _me._ After awhile, truth don't matter - only th' legends. An' we successful cap'ns in Tratton's Fleet build our careers on our legends, sure as th' wind an' currents carry our ships 'cross th' sea!"

Blerim scratched idly at his snout with one oversized digging claw. "Funnee way o' looken at ee truth, burr hurr. Oi wunner what our H'Abbey 'istorian Brudder Winokur wudd think of et. Or H'Abbot Geoffers, since ee wurr an 'istorian afurr ee was H'Abbot."

Tratton/Redclaw's attention went to the rat in the road, still kneeling submissively and still looking on at the events unfolding around him like the captive of history he was. "An' who do we have 'ere?"

"Just a lone fugitive, seeking to escape the obligations of the Accord," Custis answered, feeling entitled to do so now that the subject had moved into an area over which he was directly responsible. "But as you can see, we have apprehended him, just as we do with all who think to elude us. You will be able to report to King Tratton that you saw firstpaw how seriously we pursue this undertaking. No rats of Mossflower will escape our sweeps. As it was in the Northlands, so shall it be here too."

"Most … commenderble." The red-bedecked-and-dyed searat looked to the cornered creature. "An' what be yer name?"

"Um … Barnaget, uh, sir."

"So tell me, Barnaget, how d'you feel 'bout comin' away t' join a kingdom o' yer own fellow rats, where ye'll never hafta worry 'bout other creatures ever agin?"

"Uh, never had no problem with other creatures. We each kept to our own selves, an' got along jus' fine. Mossflower's my home, an' I don't see why I gotta leave it if I ain't ever bothered nobeast."

"Oh, but ain'tcher heard? It's all in th' int'rests of peace, an' keepin' the armies of a Badger Lord an' a Searat King from goin' t' war again." The thinly-veiled sarcasm with which Tratton delivered this statement made both Mina and Custis glance his way in curiosity.

"Why should I care what goes on 'tween some badger an' rat king way out on th' coastlands? What business is that o' mine? An' what business is it o' theirs how I live my life here in these woods?"

"You seriously underestermate the powers commanded by that badger - an' my own 'rat king' - if you think they'll not reach in an' affect th' lives o' creatures dweillin' here in Mossflower. 'Cos - guess what? - they already 'ave, an' alla us bein' right here 'xactly where we are's proof 'nuff o' that." Tratton turned to the two ranking Gawtrybe on the scene. "I'll be takin' this pris'nor off yer paws fer ye. You've no need t' worry 'bout 'im anymore."

Custis fought to hide his bristling. "Uh, that's rather, uh, against procedure, um, Captain. All detainees are to be processed through Foxguard these days, and then dispatched in groups to the coast for transfer to Salamandastron."

"After which they're transferred to _us_ ," the searat pointed out. "So since we already got this one, what's th' point o' lettin' you drag 'im all th' way back there - " Tratton pointed to the tower of the fox fortress, now soaring above the treetops to the northeast and dominating the countryside around them, " - when ye've already delivered him inta th' paws of those 'ee was bound fer anyway? Cuts out th' middlebeast, an' saves you a whole lotta extra work."

MIna and Custis traded yet another uncertain glance. "That would be most … irregular," the Gawtrybe Lady ventured.

"Oh, but I insist," Tratton asserted, momentarily switching to his more usual, unfeigned tone and verbiage.

"Captain Redclaw insists," Poinsett seconded, reminding her two superiors of just who they were dealing with here.

"Well, in that case," Custis conceded, "since you are our guest here in Mossflower, by all means take him if that be your wish. As you say, it will save us unnecessary toil."

"Splendid. Now then, th' Sergeant 'ere tells me we should only be 'bout a half day's march from Redwall, with plenny o' time t' reach it 'fore this day's light fails. So I was thinkin', since we got ourselves a nice accommodatin' tavern sittin' right 'ere, an' we all been on our footpaws fer a good spell since morn, why not all head inside an' take a well-deserved break while we enjoy this good ferret's hospitality?"

Grayfoot stiffened in surprise. "You … wanna bring all yer searats … inta my tavern?"

"An' Sergeant Poinsett's squirrels too, o' course. T'wouldn't be polite makin' 'em stand out in th' road while we wetted our parched throats, now would it?'

"He certainly could use the business," Custis muttered, prompting a bemused snort from Mina.

"Well, if y' wanna … " Grayfoot assented uncertainly. "Not like we ain't got enuff stocks t' serve you all. But how're y' gonna pay? Got any Realms on ya?"

Tratton/Redclaw stared blankly at the ferret. "Realms?"

"A new payment system of Lord Urthblood's," Custis explained. "But not to worry. This round will be on His Lordship!"


	49. Chapter XLVIII

**XLVIII.**

 **GRAYFOOT'S TAVERN**

"'Tis said His Majesty's got a 'hog of 'is own, servin' as Urthblood's Ambassador on Terramort," the rat called Redclaw regaled Drewry as the hedgehog served out tankards of cool ale to the searat "captain" and his companions.

The Redwaller snorted. "How do they get on?"

"Not 'xactly famously, from what I hear tell," Redclaw conceded.

"Then score one fer us 'hogs," Drewry grumbled in subdued satisfaction as he moved on to the next table.

"Hmph. Abbeybeasts." Tratton/Redclaw turned to the fugitive rat Barnaget, whom the Searat King had made sure to seat beside him. "You ever been t' Redwall, matey?"

Barnaget, still clearly overwhelmed by the pace and scope of unfolding events, shook his head. "Nay. Never even seen it, from th' outside even."

"Truly? But ye're a Mossflower rat … "

"Mossflower's a big place. An' rats ain't 'xactly welcome there."

"Actshully, I heard these days they might be." Tratton shot a knowing glance at Mina and Custis, who also shared his table, along with Poinsett and the ever-present Talarek. Poinsett had not yet had opportunity to update Mina and Custis on just how much of the situation Tratton knew, or seemed to have surmised. "Isn't that true, Captain? Lady?"

Realizing they had nothing to gain by denying a state of affairs Tratton would see well enough for himself when he arrived at Redwall, Mina gave as nonchalant a shrug as she could muster. "You'll find out soon enough, Captain, won't you?"

"Aye, that I will." Tratton looked to the ferret barkeep and his two Abbey helpers, the three of them bustling to fill all the orders from the atypically-packed tavern. "Pity our hosts're so busy. Woulda liked t' talk to them more."

"They'd not be able to tell you anything you'll not hear at Redwall itself," Custis assured the rat King. "And what did you expect, bringing threescore thirsty marchers into a roadside tavern stocked with a full cellar? You'll be running Grayfoot and his servers ragged on their footpaws from now until the time you leave."

"Although Grayfoot's wife Judelka usually helps out with the serving," Mina added, glancing about the main room in puzzlement. "I wonder where she is now."

Custis picked up on this at once. "Yes. I wonder."

"Mebbe she ain't too fond o' rats," Tratton mused, allowing himself an in-character chuckle.

"Yes," Mina said, suddenly sharing Custis's suspicions, "that could very well be it. Captain Redclaw, Sergeant Poinsett, if you'll excuse me a moment." The Gawtrybe Lady rose from her chair, inclining her head for Custis to join her, the two of them heading off toward the rear staircase leading up to the second story.

Belatedly spotting the two Gawtrybe who sought to explore his establishment more thoroughly, Grayfoot all but dropped the tankard he was filling and hurried over to the stairs himself. "Hey, where're ya goin'?" he called up after them, the inquisitive squirrels already halfway up the flight by the time he reached the bottom step.

"Just going to have a look at your guest rooms," Mina called back with easy false cheer. "It's my first time visiting your inn, and I'd like to know what to expect, if circumstances should ever require that I spend the night here."

"Well, lemme go up with you then, show ya 'round, give you th' guided tour … "

"For a mere half-dozen guest bedrooms? Don't be silly. Tend to your thirsty customers, and we'll show ourselves around."

"Um … " Grayfoot seemed about to press the point, then perhaps realized how incriminating it might look if he did, and retreated to the bar. Mina and Custis traded a wordless glance of satisfaction, then proceeded the rest of the way up the stairs in their quest for the one room on that floor which was _not_ for guests.

Back at his table, with the two seniormost Gawtrybe suddenly absent and his travel companions representing nothing new to him, Tratton/Redclaw returned his attention to Barnaget. "So, how's life fer rats 'ere in Mossflower?"

"Um … t'wasn't bad, not 'fore all … this. Kept mostly to ourselves, like I said outside, not botherin' anybeast else an' nobeast else botherin' us. Saw to our own needs, looked after each other, kept ourselves polite an' respectful toward any woodlanders we came across, even if most of 'em wanted naught t' do with us … "

"Ah," the false searat captain pounced, "so ye're sayin' you was mostly shunned by the other folk o' Mossflower? Is that any way t' live, I ask ye? Wouldn'tja grant it'd be much better all rats livin' t'gether, not havin' t' concern themselves with any other species or what they think of us? Our very own kingdom all to ourselves, where we all get along an' play our part?"

Barnaget favored the incognito Searat King with a long look. "Even if that part fer us land rats is chained up in yer rowin' galleys an' forced servitude?"

"Now where'd y' hear that?"

"Well, it's what's happ'nin' to us, ain't it?"

Tratton let slip an almost fiendish smile. "Actshully, slavery's on its way out in th' Searat Empire. Urthblood's made us free all our woodlanders, an' King Tratton never trusted slaves of any ilk anyways. Way I heard it, he'd just as soon abolish th' practice from 'is realm alt'gether."

This drew surprised looks from both Barnaget and Poinsett, the Gawtrybe squirrel not having heard of this either. "Well, that's … fine, and what Lord Urthblood had in mind all along, I'm sure. So, just what does, um, His Majesty intend to do with all the rats of the lands?"

"Oh, he's got other plans fer 'em, of that I'm sure." Tratton's outlandish, exaggerated grin became more companionly as he turned back to Barnaget. "But first, ye'll travel with me t' Redwall, an' get t' spend some good days there 'fore ye're off t' experience life 'mongst us old salts o' ratkind!"

"I'm … not so sure about that," Poinsett ventured.

Tratton/Redclaw turned to her. "Oh, 're you gonna go on with it too, 'bout how them Abbeybeasts might not let me in?"

"In this case, I'm more concerned what will happen if they _do_ let you in … and more to the point, if you bring this fugitive in with you. Once you're over their threshold, the rules of Redwall will apply to you - all of you. Which means if the Abbot or Abbess grants sanctuary to this rat Captain Custis and Her Ladyship have gone to such great lengths to apprehend, he'll not be joining you for your return trip to the coast, or anywhere else. And that would be poor reward for all our efforts in delivering him to you, wouldn't it?"

Tratton stroked his whiskers as he imagined a mere ship's captain might. "Hmm. Int'restin' point there, Sergeant. An' I s'pose I'll have plenny t' talk about with those Abbey folk as it is, with all th' rats they're harborin' there already. Then again, if so many've escaped you Gawtrybe by now, what's one solitary rat more?"

"If this rat accompanies you into Redwall," Poinsett enunciated clearly, to make certain the Searat King knew exactly where things stood, "we will no longer be responsible for him in any way, unless or until he emerges again. Please bear this in mind when you reach the Abbey gates, although I might strongly advise that he remain outside Redwall, with us."

"With you?" Tratton jumped on the inexperienced Gawtrybe sergeant's inadvertent slip. "Sumpthin' makes y' think ye'll not be allowed inside Redwall yerselves?"

"What I meant was, outside with the Gawtrybe in general," Poinsett quickly amended, not caring to confirm just yet what had already been hinted by Drewry and Blerim, and was sure to become known to the Searat King later this day, or tomorrow at the latest. "We naturally have forces deployed all throughout Mossflower for the resettlement campaign, including around Redwall. I'm sure we'll be able to find a couple of willing squirrels to mind this one, whether from Captain Custis's forces or my own company."

Tratton shrugged. "Gettin' a look at how that campaign's goin' was one o' my reasons fer makin' this jaunt, so I guess that's what I'm seein' now. Gotta have sumpthin' worthwhile t' report back to 'is Majesty, don't I, or else he might think t'was all a waste … an' we'd not want King Tratton feelin' one o' his captain's valuable time was wasted, would we?"

Up on the second floor, Mina and Custis hastened past all the guest bedrooms, casting only the most cursory of glances through each open door to make sure none were occupied before arriving at last at the private chamber at the end of the hall, the door to which was closed. Mina raised her paw and knocked softly, restraining the knuckle raps so as to sound more amicably inquiring and less commandingly authoritative. "Hullo, may I come in?" she called out, pitching her voice to convey that she might actually be asking for permission.

"Go 'way," Judelka's muffled tones came to the two squirrels through the wood barrier. "Ain't feelin' well, an' ain't s'posed t' talk t' ye."

Custis and Mina shared a glance, then Mina let herself into the bedroom with the captain following her. "Well, which is it?" she asked the ferretwife, who sat on her bed with Percy on one knee; mother and son glared at the unwelcome intruders with a mix of ire and apprehension. "If you're not feeling well, I can dispatch a Gawtrybe healer to tend to you, or have Vanessa or Metellus fetched from Redwall if you prefer. And if you're not supposed to talk to me, that would leave me wondering whyever not? I have dwelt at Redwall for seasons now, as an Abbeybeast, so you can talk to me about anything."

Judelka shook her head as if to work her way through Mina's feigned friendliness. "Y' ain't an Abbeybeast no more, 's what I heard. Tried t' kill somebeast, got yerself kicked out, now ye're part o' that crowd who's got Redwall under siege. Bad squirrely!"

Mina was struck at the moment by just how much Grayfoot's simpleton spouse could remind her of Latura, and she hoped the ferret before her would prove less problematic than the prophetic ratmaid who'd turned Mossflower - and Lord Urthblood's campaign - upside down. "Why aren't you downstairs waiting tables or working behind the bar? It's a packed house, surely the most customers Grayfoot's ever had, and your husband could certainly use your help."

"Go 'way. Leave us be."

"Does Grayfoot always send you up here when the rats come to him for help?"

"Not s'posed t' talk to you 'bout that. Can't talk t' you. Gray's a good ferret, so don't you go botherin' him."

"Oh, I know he's a goodbeast. He never would have gained a captaincy in Lord Urthblood's forces if he weren't. And it only makes sense that a good-hearted creature like him would seek to help those in need. It's an admirable trait, and to be lauded. So, how many rats _has_ he helped this season?"

"I dunno. Not for me t' say. Stop askin' me 'bout it. Not s'posed t' say."

"You stop pest'rin' my mum!" Percival burst out from his mother's lap.

Mina's gaze went to the toddler ferret. "And how do _you_ feel about rats coming here all the time, Percy?"

"Ain't 'fraid a' no rats! Saw lots 'n' lots, last time I was at Redwall! They ain't so bad!"

"Not when they behave, no. But how do you feel about them coming here, to your own home, when there aren't any of your hare friends or lots of Abbeybeasts to make sure they behave?"

"Rats ain't so bad," was all Percy would say in response.

"But you're up here, hiding from them."

"Only 'cos there's so many."

"But, how do you know how many there are? You've been up here this whole time."

"Um … "

"Are you sure there wasn't another rat in here before all those others, and that's why your father sent the two of you up here?"

Percival struck a defiant tone. "If there'd been 'nutha rat in here, Da woulda kicked 'is tail an' sent it away, 'cuz 'ee knows rats're trubble!"

"Hmm. That is true." Mina looked from one ferret to the other. "Sorry to have bothered you. We'll leave you to yourselves now. And do feel better, Judelka, from whatever it is that ails you."

Closing the door again on the mother and son, Mina and Custis retraced their steps down the hall toward the stairs. "Well, that was hardly the smoking shaft we could have hoped for to incriminate Grayfoot," the male squirrel lamented.

"He was smart to send his wife and son up here, where anybeast wanting a word with them would have to seek them out and not be able to catch them in unguarded, casual conversation. It makes us look like intrusive inquisitors, and throws the balance against us. We might yet be able to catch our good retired ferret captain in a lie, or worse, but he's seen to it that it won't be from his family."

"So that's it? He gets away with actively opposing Lord Urthblood's mandate, and we can't lay a claw on him?"

"Without proof, no, we can't. Maybe that proof will show up in time, but until then, at least we can shut him down. No more rats will be escaping us this way, we can make sure of that."

"Hm. If only Tratton hadn't shown up, and we - "

"Redclaw. His name is Captain Redclaw, for our purposes, and the benefit of those who aren't meant to know. That's one ruse you do _not_ want to let slip to the wrong beasts, for the very sake of the Accord itself."

"Whatever. But I'd still like to have gotten a crack at questioning that rat prisoner more fully, in my own way. If Grayfoot really did help him directly, he could have told us, but now the searats have taken custody of him and we'll never have the chance. And if _they_ interrogate him themselves, and discover that a former captain of Lord Urthblood's now conspires against him … "

"That's beyond our control now. All we can do is put the best face on things, and make sure our visiting searat dignitary doesn't learn it from us. Which means treating Grayfoot as a respectable, law-abiding barkeep, as much as it might gall us to do so. Now, let's join the others, and speak no more of this until Captain Redclaw's company has moved on and we're on our way back to Gawdrey."

They arrived back in the main tavern room just in time to overhear, upon passing the nearest table, one of Tratton's entourage bemoaning as he stared down into his tankard of fine Abbey ale. "Gah, what's this stuff s'posed t' be? Ain't proper drink fer a grown beast. Don't that ferret know how t' brew proper grog?"


	50. Chapter XLIX

**XLIX.**

 **FOXGUARD**

It was a grim and determined Sword who emerged from Foxguard's main fortress, set to play a hunch as far as he could. But for this he would need the full backing of his brigade, and so, as a few of his swordfoxes escorted every vixen on the premises outside the wall under armed accompaniment, Tolar mustered the totality of his remaining forces, from the veterans of Salamandastron all the way down to the greenest recruit and every fox in between.

Jaffox and his own crew were by this time back inside the wall too, the big Northlander eager to monitor the situation with Vermilya, who'd disappeared into the building encircling the base of the tower and had yet to reappear. Joska and her sisters had elected to remain out in Bryn's camp, preferring to keep as much distance between themselves and the vengeful Sword as they could, but the arrogant Jaffox harbored no such qualms, and was thus on paw to witness the rounding up and enforced eviction of all the vixens he and Joska had worked so hard to insinuate into Foxguard. But it was the massed force of black-clad swordsbeasts, threescore strong, approaching across the grounds with clear confrontation on their minds that had the big fox realizing that all his plans and schemes were about to be thrown into disarray.

"Looks like trouble, Red," Jaffox said through the side of his muzzle to his longtime cohort Redrovan. "Stay cool, follow my lead, an' keep yer blade in its scabbard … fer now."

The other fox was in no hurry to draw, having seen how the duels between the two squads had gone. "Aye, boss," Redrovan acknowledged, turning to spread the order to their fellow Northland vulpines.

Tolar halted three paces before Jaffox, all his swordfoxes at his back and at the ready. "I'm expelling you from Foxguard, you and every fox you brought along with you."

"Oh? An' why's that, Sword?"

"Vermilya confessed. To everything."

"Oh, well, this oughta be int'restin'. Just what, 'xactly, did she confess to?"

"You killed Sappakit."

Jaffox's face darkened. "She toldja that?"

Tolar allowed just a moment's hesitation before replying, "She did."

"Okay, now I know ye're just flat-out lyin'. She couldn'ta testerfied t' somethin' she never saw. You pushed this gambit too far, an' now it jus' blew up in yer face like a defective stormpowder keg. That vix toldja no such thing."

Tolar stepped right up to Jaffox, fighting to keep the snarl out of his voice. "You killed Sappakit. I know you did."

Jaffox was hardly intimidated by the head-shorter Sword. "An' I says I didn't. An' if you could prove otherwise, you'd be takin' lots sterner action now than jus' threat'nin' to kick us out. So have a care what accusations you go throwin' around."

"You're wrong about one thing: I'm not just threatening to kick you out. From this day forth, you and your foxes - and your vixens - are barred from entry to Foxguard."

"You can't do that. Lord Urthblood's orders, 'member? We're stuck with each other."

"Those orders only go so far. I'm still Sword of Foxguard, and the day-to-day operations of this fortress are still left to me - including matters of discipline. If I so much as suspected any member of my brigade, regardless of rank or tenure, of doing what I'm certain you did, I'd remove them from the chain of command and relieve them of all authority in a heartbeat. So that's what I'm doing with you … and I don't give a damn about Lord Urthblood's orders."

"An' if I refuse t' leave?"

"Then you're a rebel force staging an insurrection within the walls of one of Lord Urthblood's military garrisons … and you know how that badger views rebellion from within his own ranks. So choose your next words - and your next deed - carefully, because if you force this to a fight, we will hold nothing back. And I will come straight for you. And I can assure you, you'll not find me as easy to deal with as Belsis."

This barked reminder of the ambidextrous junior swordfox who'd bested Jaffox in their one-on-one contest finally broke through the Northlander's calm, brusque reserve, turning the tables of this verbal confrontation fully Tolar's way. For all that Jaffox and his crew might have been quick to ridicule their disciplined, black-clad counterparts for their prim devotion to protocol and procedure, their incessant dress battle drills and their lack of any real combat experience over the past several seasons, they'd seen enough of Tolar's brigade here to know that these more highly-skilled bladesbeasts could slice them to ribbons if it came to an all-out brawl. So, as much as it galled Jaffox to do so, he backed down.

"If that's yer position, then we'll leave. Can't have strife 'tween fellow foxes of Lord Urthblood's forces, can we? Even if one of them's disregardin' orders."

"Don't talk to me about orders, Jaffox. For that matter, don't talk to me at all. Just get out of my sight."

"Whatever you say, Sword. It's yer fortress, as ye've made clear - tho' p'raps someday our badger master'll be by t' remind you o' just where _your_ power comes from. Oh, an' what about Vermilya? She free t' leave now, or is she bound fer yer dungeons?"

"She'll be put out too, since our dungeons are rather full of rats at the moment, with that latest bunch the Gawtrybe brought in yesterday - as you well know." On top of everything else that had been going on with the investigation of Sappakit's death, fate had chosen this inopportune moment to hit Tolar with the latest wave of prisoners for transfer to the coast. Fortunately, the Gawtrybe had seen to getting them all settled into their cells with only minimal oversight required from Tolar's foxes. Even now Captain Choock's shrews busied themselves out on the canal and river to make ready for the transport of these rats by Moss out to the coastlands, preparations which would keep them too occupied to involve themselves with this inter-vulpine conflict and spare them the awkwardness of perhaps having to choose sides in any of this.

Motioning to his foxes, Jaffox led them across the grounds and out the descending tunnel egress under the wall, making their unified and symbolic departure from Foxguard. Tolar's brigade followed them in a large crescent of paws-on-hilts foxes in an equally symbolic show of force, until the unrefined Northlanders were fully out of the stronghold, after which the Sword assigned triple the usual number of sentries to guard the entrance - including, for the first time ever in Foxguard's brief history, a pair of foxes down in the murder holes, each equipped with multiple loaded crossbows.

"You really think this might be needed, sir?" Haddican asked as the assigned foxes took up their stations. "That Jaffox and his gang might try to force their way back in after being expelled?"

"You saw his bearing just now. You saw his eyes. Even now that he stands openly accused of the crime he almost certainly committed, he acts as if he still holds the upper paw, and isn't the least intimidated … unless we threaten him with a fight he knows he'd lose. If he'd had that horde of his in here with him, I half-suspect he'd not have backed down at all, and would have tried to take over Foxguard through pure force of arms. That's why I felt it was important to stress that refusing to leave would make him part of rebellious insurrection in our view - to hopefully disabuse him of any such notion. Hopefully."

"It might have helped if that vixen actually had confessed. However Jaffox arranged things with Sappakit - if he was truly behind it at all - he knew Vermilya wouldn't be able to give you anything you could hold over him."

"Oh, he was behind it all right. Sapp did _not_ just get drunk and fall into the canal and smash his head on the side of a raft. We just have to find some way to prove it."

"And if we can't, sir? If Jaffox was too careful about covering his tracks?"

"Then he still stays outside. He's made it clear he never really considered himself and his foxes a part of our brigade, and not fully subject to my commands. I can't have an element like that inside Foxguard, much less one who almost certainly had Sappakit murdered. This has gone too far, and I'm putting an end to it now." Tolar glanced up at the battlements over the fortress entrance. "Make sure we always have a couple of tods up there as well, to give a shout of warning if they see Jaffox's crew or any sizable number of those hordebeasts approaching … and tell them to keep their heads down and offer the lowest-profile target possible. Jaffox might not have any decent archers or slingers amongst his bullies, but we can't be sure about that horde of Bryn's."

Outside the walls, Choock's shrews out on the canal looked up from their preparations at the sight of Jaffox and his squad streaming out of Foxguard and marching around the curve of the wall to join the valley horde encampment, but none broke away from their labors to inquire into the matter; this was fox business, between Tolar and Jaffox, to be worked out between them. The shrews had over twoscore rats to transport, and that would keep them quite busy enough without sticking their pointy snouts into a power struggle which was none of their affair.

The Gawtrybe watching from the walltop, however, most definitely did see Jaffox's expulsion as their affair, and two of them slipped down the climbing rope strung out over the south wall face and jogged off toward the trees, where they soon took to the forest canopy in their haste to deliver news of this latest development to Captain Custis.

Bryn came out to meet Jaffox as the Northland foxes approached the encampment, quickly gathering from their expressions that all was not well. "What 'appened?"

"Got put out, is what happened," the big fox grumbled.

"Can … can they do that?"

"Jus' did. Our fancy Sword's got it in his head that I had sumpthin' t' do with his clumsy oaf of a lieutenant gettin' tipsy an' fallin' inta the canal, an' this's how he's punishin' us."

"Well, didja?"

Jaffox shot the ferret a dangerous glance. "You oughta know better than t' ask anything like that, Lieutenant."

"Uh, yes, sir." For the life of him, Bryn couldn't tell whether this reprimand was an admission of guilt or a protestation of innocence, but he knew he would never ask about this matter again.

"Where's Joska? Got some things t' discuss with 'er."

"Over with the other vixens, sir - includin' th' ones who just came outta th' fortress. Looked like alla them. Assumin' they got th' boot too?"

"Aye, they did. Seems our trust has worn thin with our hosts - which wouldn't be so bad except fer th' fact that in my case, Tolar's s'posed t' be more'n just my host. He went an' reshuffled Lord Urthblood's approved chain o' command all on 'is own, castin' me out against orders. We'll see how long THAT stands."

"Well, what _can_ y' do abut it? It's 'is fortress, an' he's in charge 'ere."

"You just wait an' see." Saying no more, Jaffox took his leave of the ferret and his fellow foxes to seek out Joska. Finding her right where Bryn has indicated, he took the false seer aside, discovering her mood to be little better than his own.

"This ruins everything!" the vixen vented. "We worked so hard to get all our vixens inside, an' now you went an' got 'em all chucked out in one fell swoop!"

Jaffox's eyes narrowed. "Don't go puttin' this on me, vix."

"Well, who _should_ I put it on? It was your brilliant idea to go an' kill - _ERK!_ "

At that word, Jaffox's arm shot out, his paw tight around Joska's throat. "Careful now, sweetie. Don't wanna be sayin' such things aloud, do ya? 'Specially without any proof."

Seeing she'd gotten the point, he released her, leaving her rubbing at her neck fur. "So, what's next? Wait until they come for us here? Will Bryn even stand with you if he does? An' where's Vermilya? They haven't executed her, have they?"

"Naw, they ain't me. They're Lord Urthblood's well-behaved foxes, 'member, bound to th' courtesy of laws an' rules. She'll be out soon 'nuff, an' good news is she didn't break. Tolar tried accusin' me o' murder, an' that's when I knew he was lyin', 'cos even if our dear Vermilya had folded, she couldn't told him _that_. He was bluffin', an' I called it, an' he didn't like that, not one bit, but what could 'ee do, without proof he ain't got? He's gettin' desperate, jus' like I toldja he would. Now we bring the Gawtrybe in, an' watch him crack just a liddle bit more. Won't be long now, m'dear, won't be long … "

With his swordfoxes defensively deployed to his satisfaction and drills suspended for the day in favor of an actual battle footing, Tolar withdrew into his quarters to ponder his next move, and try to anticipate what Jaffox's might be. There he found both Mona and Tibball awaiting him, if for different purposes. The Sword took his seat at his usual place, looking across the conference table at vixen and rabbit; while he admitted inwardly that these were two of the creatures currently at Foxguard whose presence he least minded, they nevertheless represented intrusions into the solitude he sought at the moment, and thus did he accept their audience with a thinly-veiled trace of begrudgement.

In spite of this, the corners of his mouth could not help but lift at the sight of the rabbit Ambassador - _his_ Ambassador - decked out in his full uniform. The seamstress sisters of Redwall had done themselves proud with a fancy tunic that displayed enough flavor of a Long Patrol jacket to suggest those famous fighting hares without outright imitation or mockery. The dark blue fabric would hide stains and dirt if Tibball should ever opt to wear this outfit on his diplomatic outings, and also blend well enough with the forest shadows to provide a kind of rudimentary camouflage effect while still standing out as proper finery in any room or chamber where he might take his meetings with the good folk of Mossflower. The gold pipings and accents on sleeves, cuffs and pockets could also be easily turned inside out to hide the gaudy accents when Tibball wished to present a less ornate aspect. All in all, a fine and thoughtful piece of tailoring.

Mona, knowing she had matters of greater depth and length to discuss with Tolar, bade Tibball to go first. Twiddling his paws nervously, the rabbit began, "Thank you for seeing me, Sword. I know this is not the most opportune time for you, with all that's going on and the tragic loss of one of your brigade, and all those vixens, and that horde outside, and Jaffox and his - "

"How can I help you today, Ambassador?"

"Um, er, yes. I was feeling, or thinking, well, it had occurred to me that it's getting to be time to make another diplomatic excursion into Mossflower on your behalf. You know, the purpose you've engaged me here for. There are still huge stretches of Mossflower I haven't toured yet, and, well, the time seems right for it, um … "

"Yes, I imagine it does. I'm sorry you've had to be here to experience the recent tensions and unpleasantness; such was certainly not what I'd envisioned when I took you on for your duties here, and I can well understand your desire to be away from it all. This might well prove an appropriate time to embark on your second foray, and I would encourage you to do so if you feel the time is right for it. However, I'm afraid I will be unable to spare any of my foxes to accompany you this time."

"Um … what?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Ambassador, these are fairly crisis times here at Foxguard. One of my most trusted foxes has died under highly suspicious circumstances, and the matter is far from resolved to my satisfaction. Elements of discord and dissent and perhaps outright hostility have entered my stronghold, and I must be prepared to meet them at every front. I cannot be shortpawed at such a critical time, and will need my full force present at my command."

"Well, what about Roxroy, and Stillafax? They worked out well last time, and I was just assuming … I mean, surely two junior brigade members would not be missed … "

"What part of 'I can spare none of my foxes' did you fail to understand?"

As Tibball shrank back at Tolar's reprimand, Mona spoke up in the rabbit's defense. "Mind yourself, My Sword - this is your own appointed and recruited Ambassador you address. He deserves civility, even if other beasts in our midst do not."

Tolar took a deep breath. "My apologies, Tibball. My own patience may be wearing thin these days in any number of ways, but that's no reason for me to show you disrespect, even if others around here have earned it. That said, my answer must remain the same. I regret that I can spare none of my brigade to accompany you."

"Ah. Hmm … er, well maybe in that case I should delay any further diplomatic excursions in Mossflower for the moment, until things here have been … um, resolved?"

"On the contrary, I think this may be the ideal time for you to be away from Foxguard for a while, since it's impossible to tell just at the moment precisely how things will 'resolve,' and how nasty they may get before they do - and perhaps afterwards as well. If lives are being taken, this could get ugly. Perhaps you could have the Gawtrybe serve as your escorts instead?"

"Um … you'd like me to take along a couple of the Gawtrybe, in the stead of your foxes?" the rabbit clarified, wanting to make sure he'd heard the Sword correctly, and hoping he hadn't.

"What I'd like is for you to take _all_ of them with you," Tolar grumbled, almost under his breath, pinching the bridge of his snout with eyes closed.

Seeing that he'd caught Foxguard's commander at a particularly awkward crossroad, Tibball voiced a rather radical proposal even as it occurred to him. "Uh, perhaps I should resign from my position, if only temporarily, until everything here has settled down a bit? Leave Foxguard, and return to my home, or perhaps to Redwall …?"

Tolar opened his eyes again to look fully at Tibball. "Yes … yes, Redwall. I think that might be the ideal solution. And you wouldn't even have to resign your post, necessarily. While we do enjoy good relations with the Abbey, and wouldn't need you to serve as Ambassador to them for us on top of that, it could be a temporary, ceremonial posting, one which would safely remove you from any possible strife here while allowing you to remain officially engaged as our representative to wider Mossflower. How does that sound to you, good Tibball?"

The rabbit blinked at the swordfox. "You … want me to serve as your Ambassador … at a place where you don't … _need_ an Ambassador?"

"You do make it sound rather redundant and unnecessary, when you put it like that. But then again, we know how fond you were of Redwall, and how much you enjoyed your time there. Your fellow woodlanders, and the Long Patrol … "

Tibball instantly brightened at this mention of the legendary fighting hares he so idolized. "Ah, well, yes, now that you mention it, there is all of that to consider. And if you'd not view it as any dereliction of duty on my part, then yes, I think … I think I should like to return to Redwall, and dwell there again for a while. By your leave, of course."

"Of course. And my leave you shall have. Why don't you go begin preparing at once, and I can have a couple of the Gawtrybe escort you to the quarry - or a couple of my weasel laborers, if you'd prefer them over our squirrel guests, Once you're at the quarry, you'll be in the company of the Abbeybeasts and their Guosim allies, and they'll see you the rest of the way to Redwall. Our recent high watch reports indicate the workers there have now started transferring the cut stone across the Moss and to the building site of Freetown, where preliminary foundation work has already begun, so you shouldn't have to wait too long for a crossing."

Tibball all but jumped out of his chair in excited anticipation. "Yes, I'll go see to that at once, Sword … although in all honesty all I'll have to bring with me are my regular clothes, since I assume you'll take care of whatever provisions I need?"

"Of course, although it shouldn't be too much - just a canteen and some bread, perhaps, since it's less than a half-day's journey to the quarry, and the Redwallers and Guosim will see to your needs after that, I'm sure."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure they will. So, uh, do you think I should make the journey in my uniform, or change back into my civilian garb to spare wear and tear on it?"

"That's entirely up to you, Ambassador. You've made the trip from Foxguard to Redwall before, so you know what's entailed, and what would best suit you."

"Ah, yes, that's a fair point, yes it is. I think I'll change out of this, then, and carry it with me in the sack it was delivered in. I mean, it wouldn't do for me to show up in the dress jacket they went to such trouble to make for me with it all torn and stained from hard travels, would it? Yes, I'll go see to that right away. Um, excuse me, Sword. Madam Mona. And thank you for the suggestion. Um, goodbye!" Tibball scampered out of the chamber, leaving the two foxes alone.

Mona gave a wry smirk. " _Your_ suggestion? I seem to recall Tibball proposing he perhaps return to Redwall - you just agreed with the idea."

"Either way, it solves that one small aspect of this present dilemma, and should safely remove him from any further unpleasantness which might transpire here." As he spoke, Tolar gestured with his paw, and Mona rose and crossed the chamber to firmly close the door Tibball had left open in his excited haste to start making ready for his departure.

"Then again," the vixen said, resuming her seat, "he'll tell Redwall all of what's been going on here: Sappakit's death, and the expulsion of Jaffox … "

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Anything that convinces the Redwallers to steer well clear of Foxguard at this time might be welcome. We'll have quite enough to deal with here without Abbeybeasts inserting themselves into the midst of it too."

"So, you don't think it's over?"

"How can it be over? With Jaffox and his horde massed outside our walls, brewing up who knows what trouble to throw at us next? Are you sure you've gotten everything from Vermilya that you can?"

"I used the most reliable truth potion on her that I know of, and she revealed nothing of any plans against Sappakit. It appears her primary concern was to romance him, and gain standing at Foxguard through her attachment to him."

Tolar snorted. "Didn't exactly work out that way for her, did it?"

"No. And … I'm not convinced that going out to the canal was entirely her own idea."

"Oh? You mean Sapp himself wanted … "

"No, not him either. I suspect some suggestion was planted in her, through hypnosis. She can't fully explain where the idea came from, only that she always found being on the water romantically stimulating, but she expressed it in some vague, unfocused manner. I don't think luring Sappakit out to the canal was her idea, but she can't fully grasp that it _wasn't_ her idea."

Tolar stared hard at Mona. "Jaffox can't do anything like that."

"No. But I'm betting Joska could."

"Then she'll be the next one I bring in for questioning."

"You think Jaffox will allow that? If Joska really did such a thing, and at his bidding, do you imagine Jaffox will let you anywhere near her? We just kicked him and his foxes and vixens out of Foxguard. They're all together now, one united front along with that valley horde, set apart from us and taking orders from Jaffox now. If you went out there and tried to bring Joska in the way you brought in Vermilya, I suspect you'd not find it quite so easy as last time."

"So, what? Jaffox gets away with murder? Again?"

"He's very good at that, it seems … with the help of Lord Urthblood looking the other way in such matters."

"Lord Urthblood couldn't have meant for Jaffox to murder Sappakit!"

Mona was silent for many heartbeats, then spoke in a very soft voice. "Can we be so sure of that?"

The fox Sword stared at her, aghast. "No, don't even suggest … His Lordship would never … you yourself argued against that very idea after Sappakit died!"

"That was then. I've had time to reflect on the matter. How can we be sure Jaffox isn't doing exactly what Lord Urthblood sent him here to do?"

"Mona, that's … no, I cannot accept that. Sappakit was a loyal, dedicated, long-serving soldier in Lord Urthblod's forces, whose skills and devotion to our cause made him an invaluable member of that badger's army."

"Maybe the cause has changed, or Urthblood's view of it has. Who ever would have imagined, when we were taming the Northlands and fighting the searats, that we and the Gawtrybe would ever be called upon to carry out something like this Purge? That seems to be all he cares about these days, even to the detriment of relations with Redwall .. that, and Southsward, which has conveniently called him away to that distant land while we're left to contend with Jaffox and Custis on our own. It's almost like he set it up that way … that he means to undermine you."

"We have had this discussion before, and nothing has changed in my mind since our last conversation, even if it may have in yours. I cannot - I _will_ not - credit that Lord Urthblood has seen fit to unleash Jaffox upon us to the extent of tacitly sanctioning that brute to assassinate valued members of the very fox brigade for whom this fortress was built and named."

"Jaffox is a fox too. Maybe our Lord thinks it's time for Foxguard to have a new master … or for its current one to prove he's up to the task of keeping this stronghold for his own. Maybe this is a test … a challenge … to see if you're still worthy of being Sword."

Tolar stared hard at Mona. "You don't seriously believe that, do you?"

"Would you absolutely deny it as a possibility? All present circumstances fit such an explanation. And, if true, you must not be found wanting. Not in the eyes of your swordfoxes, not in the eyes of Jaffox and his rabble, not in the eyes of the Gawtrybe, and not in the eyes of Urthblood."

"Then what would you have me do, that I haven't done already?"

"You went too lightly on Jaffox, even if we couldn't prove he was behind Sappakit's death. Yes, you expelled him, and stripped him of his authority within Foxguard, but that still leaves him outside our walls, with his horde … which still leaves him as a problem. He's shown his true colors here now. And if he's willing to put one of your senior foxes - one of the original Twenty - in the ground, you must be prepared to put Jaffox in the ground."

"I was prepared to do just that, outside just now. But he backed down."

"Maybe giving him a chance to back down was a mistake."

Tolar looked at his mate askance. "Mona, you are a healer. It distresses me to hear you speak so. Your entire life has been devoted to easing the hurts and suffering of others, not causing them hurt."

"Foxguard is the one suffering now. Jaffox has seen to that. I speak now in support of Foxguard. I speak in support of my Sword. And I will not stand by and see either of these things I hold most dear fall. Not to somebeast like Jaffox."

Tolar sighed. "I would tell you to stay out of this, and to leave everything to me, except that now I'm not sure we have that option. I think everybeast at Foxguard is a part of this now, whether they want to be or not. That's one reason I felt it was important to banish Jaffox and his foxes and vixens, even if we had no direct proof that they killed Sappakit. As long as they remained within our walls, regardless of what precautions we took, they might have tried to target more of us. Sapp was singled out because he was my second-in-command before Jaffox came, and would resume that station if I kicked Jaffox out of Foxguard. Now that Sapp's gone, his replacement Haddican might have been next on Jaffox's list … " Tolar's gaze went to Mona. "Or you, if his aim is to leave me feeling isolated and bereft of the key foxes I need to support me."

Mona snarled. "He'd know better than to come after me. I know how to defend myself."

"Sapp knew how to defend himself, as well as any member of my brigade. And look where he is now."

"But now we know how far Jaffox is willing to go, and to be on the defensive."

"Didn't we always know what Jaffox was capable of? We just assumed he'd never be so bold as to try it here, against members of the brigade. And he might not have it in mind to target you directly. If he thought eliminating Sappakit might cripple me, he might view Kyslith in that same light in regard to you. And a lone glassmaker untrained in the defensive arts, only an apprentice himself until recently, would present a very soft target indeed."

"I am quite fond of Kyslith, true, and have been assisting him with his labors in my free time." Mona rose from her chair and came around to Tolar's side of the table, taking the Sword's muzzle tenderly in one paw and tilting his head up so that they could look each other in the eye. "But you are my mate, Tolar. Compared to you, Kyslith is nothing. I would mourn his loss, as a good-hearted beast and talented artisan, and as a friend, and as a potential ally against Jaffox. But you are my rock, the one true foundation of sure footing for me in any storm. And as long as we have each other, I am certain we cannot fail or fall."

Tolar affectionately patted Mona's paw with his own; had these been normal times, he might have taken her gesture as an invitation for a daytime tryst behind their locked bedchamber door, but now such thoughts were far from his mind. "Thank you for that reminder, Mona. In times such as these, it's important to keep in mind what really matters."

"We will weather this, Tolar. We are stronger than Jaffox, and his vixens, and his horde, and anything they can throw at us. Foxguard will not fall, not to the likes of them. No matter what."

Tolar's brow knit in worry once more, his thoughts returning to their previous line of contemplation. "Belsis might not be safe either. If there's any fox among us Jaffox feels he has a score to settle with, it's that junior swordsbeast, for showing him up during the drills. Yes, I think we'll have to take special care to see to it nothing happens to him."

"That reminds me. I'd best go check on him again. He's up and around, which is an encouraging sign, but we don't want him overtaxing himself or suffering any relapse by pushing himself too hard before he's ready. I'll leave you to your strategic ruminations … "

Mona padded out of Tolar's study, closing the door softly behind her to leave him in peace. But she did not seek out Belsis, instead proceeding directly down the four flights to the cellars, where she sought out Kyslith in his workshop. Along the way she encountered Choock's shrews and several of the Gawtrybe as well, descended to oversee the transfer of all the current rat prisoners to the rafts waiting above to bear them away to Salamandastron. Pressing herself to the wall and refusing to make eye contact with any of the bound rodents as she squeezed by, she gained the central chamber, knocking five times to let Kyslith know to slide open the lock bolt - a precaution they'd gotten into the habit of using with Jaffox on the premises.

It took the glassmaker fox, no doubt immersed in his work, some moments to unlock the door and admit her. Once inside, she saw to relocking the bolt herself, then turned to face him. "Time may be shorter than we thought. We need to work faster."

Kyslith gave a worried frown. "Have the recall orders been issued from Salamandastron?"

Mona shook her head, her gaze going to the half-filled metal tub dominating the center of the chamber. "No, I'm afraid the problem is much closer to paw than that."


	51. Chapter L

**L.**

 **THE REDFOAM**

It was, to almost a certainty, the very first captains' meeting aboard any searat vessel to include a mouse at the table.

Ramjohn sat looking at the larger rodents around him, still unsure whether to count his unexpected rescue and unorthodox reinstatement as captain of his old vessel as fortuitous or cruelly ironic … or just plain bizarre. The ratmaid Latura, who'd found him and had him released, held a seat at this present meeting too, although she was neither captain nor searat. After getting him out of his chains, she and her helpers had borne him up to the top deck of the _Goodwill_ … at which point, even in his dazed state, he'd discovered that his beloved home on the waves was no longer the _Goodwill_ at all, but had been transformed into some war-making monstrosity, her entire middle deck now taken up by the mammoth turntable supporting the impossible shooting mechanism installed upon it.

As food and water and a good cleaning returned him to some semblance of the mouse he'd been before his recent misfortunes, he pieced together a rough picture of what was going on here, and all which had transpired during his time in chains: the delivery of the _Goodwill_ to Terramort for her retrofitting and metamorphosis into this preposterous engine of war under the direction of Clucus the Inventor; the slave revolt that had started aboard the _Redfoam_ due to a tropical disease, moldy bread and the foresight of the very same ratmaid who now sat at their council; and the confluence of these two chains of events into the Doldrums, where Latura's prophetic vision had told the rebels they would find her "shipkiller" and be able to seize it for themselves.

Once their miniature fleet had made it out of that becalmed zone and back into waters where wind and current were at their beck and call to deliver them wherever they next wished to go, anchors were dropped and the fleetrunner dispatched to bear Tropsa from the _Redfoam_ to the _Seabolt_. But if the searat thought he was being delivered to his new captaincy, he was in for a rude awakening, reaching the converted trader vessel only to find Latura awaiting him with the proclamation that this battered and disheveled mouse prisoner would be taking command of this ship which was formerly his and now would be again. Tropsa tried to protest, but it was clear that the current crew of the _Goodwill/Seabolt_ had already embraced the idea of Ramjohn as this craft's true and proper master because, well, Latura had said so, and what more was there to say than that?

"Want a cap'ns' meetin'," Tropsa groused, irate over the idea of his promised prize being denied him. "So's we c'n chew this over."

"Great idea!" Latura agreed. "Could use some food t' chew - ain't got much aboard this shipkiller. An' Cap'n Mousey can come along too, give you all a proper hullo!"

And so it came to pass that Ramjohn - after joining Tropsa aboard _Fleetrunner Eleven_ for the searat's unexpected, ignominious return crossing to the _Redfoam_ , whereupon the mouse was checked over by the rebels' healer Zaraphath, further cleaned up and outfitted with one of the smaller searat tunics from the ship's wardrobe - found himself sharing a table with Cordato, Tropsa, Potdar and Latura in the former stateroom of the departed Captain Trangle in a conference to determine the distribution of command over the three vessels of the rebellion against the Searat Empire.

Tropsa levelled an irate gaze at the mouse. "So, Lattie sez you gets t' be cap'n of th' shipkiller."

"Why not? She's my ship," Ramjohn shot back coolly, not the least intimidated by Tropsa, not after what he'd been through. "An' she's called th' _Goodwill_."

Cordato snorted in amusement. "Not much goodwill bound up in 'er these days, not th' way she can send other ships right to th' seabottom. You say she's yer vessel - but is she really? After what's been done to 'er, she ain't like any craft that's ever plied th' waters of any sea anywheres. So sure y' still wanna lay claim to 'er, liddle matey?"

"Watch the 'liddle matey' stuff, rat. I put several o' your kind in their watery graves 'fore they took the _Goodwill_ away from me an' slaughtered my crew in cold-blooded treachery. An' she might not be what she once was - Tratton may've transformed her inta somethin' outta a sailin' beast's nightmare - but now I'm takin' her back, an' I'll make her Tratton's nightmare, if it can do half of what you claim."

"Kills ships," Latura affirmed. "Mouseboat became Maskfaceboat but now it's mouseboat again, with a Cap'n Mousey!"

Cordato looked to Tropsa. "Guess that seals it. Looks like ye'll hafta settle fer bein' skipper of that fleetrunner after all."

"Pah! What makes this half-rat think 'ee can even still handle his old ship, after alla th' changes that've been done t' 'er? She'll prob'ly seem like a whole nother vessel, so why should 'ee be able to claim speshul priverlege on this?"

"First off," Ramjohn retorted, "better a half-rat than a full one, I'd say. Second, were any of you actual captains of _anything_ 'fore this little revolt o' yours?" The mouse looked each of them in the eye in turn - skipping Latura, of course - and saw that the answer did not need to be spoken. "Well, I was - which brings me to my last point. Now, I ain't tried t' handle th' _Goodwill_ since what you idiots did to 'er … but I can promise you this: lemme get my paws 'round 'er wheel, gimme a few leagues t' get the feel of how she responds in 'er new top-heavy configuration, an' I'll be able t' steer tricks outta her that th' rest o' you could only dream of!"

"Big words fer a liddle mousey," Cordato half-taunted. "Oh, an' by th' way, 'we' didn't do anything to yer ship; that was all Tratton's an' Clucus's doin'. Not all us rats - not even all us searats - 're all t'gether as one. An' ye're in with us now, like it or not, so ye'd best get accustermed to the idea o' bein' a mouse 'mongst rats, with me givin' the orders. As fer yer shipkiller - which is what she is now, so that's what I'll keep callin' 'er - she's all yers, 'cos Lattie sez she is. We've all learned not t' go 'gainst her when she comes out with stuff like that. We'da all been dead long 'fore now if we'd not followed 'er counsel in pretty much ev'rything."

Tropsa wasn't ready to drop the matter just yet. "Well, if we give our shipkiller over to this mouse 'ere, who's t' say 'ee won't turn on us, sink th' _Redfoam_ an' alla us an' then just sail on 'is merry way?"

"Well, he'd not be sinkin' _you_ ," Cordato reminded his fellow captain, "if you'll be skipperin' th' fleetrunner, 'cos that'd be a mighty tough target t' hit, small as she is. But biggest reason I trust 'im is, I don't hafta. He'll be a mouse presidin' over a crew o' rats. What, you think 'ee's gonna run that whole ship by 'imself? I was over there when we sank th' _Gullslayer_ ; it took a whole team of us, workin' under Lattie's direction, just t' get that giant crossbow contraption aimed an' fired. 'Sides," Cordato levelled a vaguely malicious glare at Ramjohn, " ye'd never do anything treacherous like that 'gainst yer new allies, wouldjer?"

"Not unless you give me reason. So, I get my ship back. What next?"

"Counted five more o' them treetrunk-sized arrows over on th' shipkiller while I was aboard; 'parently, Clucus was plannin' on a fairly thorough testin' of his new toy. Pity he got taken out 'imself on the very first shot, along with th' _Gullslayer._ That ferret oughta've been more careful where he put 'is footpaws, 'specially with loose ropes an' lit stormpowder kegs all about th' place! But his loss is our gain, an' if we make 'em count, those five giant arrows we got left means another five ships o' Tratton's we can take out."

Ramjohn's eyes widened at the audacity behind this last statement. "So, what, you're gonna go huntin' ships of the Royal Navy?" The mouse's tone was as hopeful as it was incredulous.

"Why not? They'll be huntin' us, an' now we c'n fight back like we never could before, take th' battle right to 'em. That's if ye've got th' stummik fer it, Cap'n Mousey?"

"Oh, don't you doubt my intestinal fortitude, rat, or my resolve in this neither. Watched my entire crew get butchered an' my ship stolen from me. If ever there was a beast on land or sea lookin' for payback 'gainst those who wronged 'im, that'd be me. I'd sail right up to Terramort itself an' launch all our remainin' stormpowder at 'is stronghold, if I thought it'd do any good."

"Actshully, ye'd not be wantin' t' waste yerself on that effort these days, since Tratton ain't even there."

Ramjohn stared at Cordato. "An' how would a bunch o' rebel slaves like you know _that_?"

"Passed him on our way out from Salam'dastron, 'fore our revolt. Travellin' on a galleon like ours, in company o' two fleetrunners, which kinda called attention to 'imself right there. One o' them liddle spyboats broke off an' came over t' poke around th' _Redfoam_ , an' 'er spycap'n let slip that Tratton was on th' galleon, sailin' in secret t' meet with Urthblood or summat like that. Might think he'd be back at Terramort by now, but Lattie seems pretty sure Tratton was gonna spend a long spell ashore."

Latura nodded. "King Ratty's goin' fer a walk. A nice long walk!"

"Ah," said Ramjohn. "So ye're goin' 'round sinkin' an' seizin' his ships, an' he likely don't even know about it yet?"

"We're countin' on him not knowin'. Him, an' none o' his rats neither. Gotta keep th' element o' surprise fer as long as we can."

"Well, won't be _that_ long," Ramjohn informed them. "That was an experimental vessel, a prototype out on a test trial. How long do such trials usually last? A day? Two, or three at most? What're they gonna do at Terramort when th' _Goodwill_ don't come back on schedule?"

"Already been over that with the survivor we pulled outta our fleetrunner," Cordato replied, "an' he said th' same as you. An' ye're prob'ly both right. Sumpthin' big as this goes missin' - somebeast important as Clucus goes missin' - that's gonna be noticed an' investigated sooner rather'n later. Could be just one day overdue'll be enuff t' get more fleetrunners out from Terramort t' see what's keepin' 'em. We gotta put distance 'tween ourselves an' the Doldrums 'fore those search parties get there - an' mebbe bring a warship or two with 'em."

Potdar nodded. "Flee th' scene o' th' crime. Yeah, I can relate t' that. Makes good sense."

"Or," Ramjohn countered, "we turn around an' head right back there. Lie in ambush, take out any other searat ships that come to investigate. Let 'em come to us, sink 'em one by one."

The others marvelled at the mouse captain's grim tone. "Bit bloodthirsty there, ain'tcher?" Tropsa remarked.

"Just lookin' t' give back what was given out t' me first. Question is, how serious are _you_ lot about this little rebellion o' yers?"

"Oh, we're serious,"Cordato assured the mouse. "Mainly 'cos it's more'n what you just called it. When we threw off our chains an' killed Trangle an' his crew an' took th' _Redfoam_ fer our own, that was a rebellion. But what we done now, an' what we're talkin' 'bout doin', that's war, plain 'n' simple. We're at war with Tratton now. So my question for _you_ , liddle honorary rat of ours, is whether ye're on board with all th' rest of us fer such a contest?"

Ramjohn didn't even need to think about it. "Course I am. Where else would I go now? Tratton took ev'rything from me I held dear, through treachery an' murder. Can't even go report it to Lord Urthblood, 'cos from what you say Tratton's there with 'im now, hatchin' who knows what conspiracies an' agreements 'tween 'em. Swear that badger cares more for his peace with seabutchers than 'bout honest seafarers like me! Well, now I got my ship back, with a nice big gift mounted on her courtesy of Tratton 'imself, an' I'll use that weapon fer what it was meant for - just not _who_ it was meant for. Even were I on my own, I'd find a way t' use th' _Goodwill_ t' go huntin' Tratton's ships, an' sink as many of 'em as I could 'fore they sunk me. So yeah, I'm onboard with ye. I'm as onboard as any mouse can be with searats."

"Then welcome, an' congrat's on gettin' yer ship back, an' may you an' she serve us all well 'fore we go to our well-earned graves. 'Bout one thing y' said, tho': goin' to Salam'dastron t' lodge a complaint wouldn't do ya any good at th' moment, an' not only fer th' reason you stated. 'cordin' to Lattie, Urthblood ain't even there now."

"He's not … " Ramjohn shook his head as if to jumble his memories back into place. "That's right … that's right, he was makin' ready t' sail off t' Southsward when I left Salamandastron. But, you said Tratton was makin' for the mountain when you passed him? So, the Searat King's there now, but Urthblood's not?"

Latura quickly corrected the mouse. "Nope. Neither one's there. Bigredbadbadger sailed south, an' King Ratty's takin' his long walk."

"Tratton's on a march?" asked Potdar, more familiar with the lands than were any of the searats around him. "When you said afore he was goin' fer a walk, we figgered you was bein' silly. Where's he goin', an' how many o' his rats is he takin' with him? Is it an invasion of the inner lands?"

Cordato perked up at this. "Hey, that might actshully work t' our favor. If Tratton's drawn off any large number of 'is forces an' led 'em inland, that'd be less we'd hafta worry about comin' after us."

But Latura was shaking her head. "Nonono, t'ain't like that. Not an invashun, not an army, just a walkabout, seein' th' lands. Badredbadger said 'ee could, so 'ee is. Just seein' th' sights, is all."

"Well, that's just … bizarre," Cordato declared. "Why'd Tratton wanna go an' do that?"

"Mebbe got bored seein' just th' sea?" Latura speculated with a shrug.

"An' if Urthblood wasn't even at Salam'daston when Tratton got there," Tropsa pounced, "how'd he give that rat permission t' go on a trek to the inner lands in th' first place?"

"Used 'is birdies," Latura explained. "Redbadger's got all kinda birdies, lots 'n' lots of 'em. But still takes 'em time t' fly back 'n' forth with notes. That's what kept King Ratty at th' big rock longer'n 'ee planned, made 'im late fer his walk."

"That's right … " A contemplative look lit Cordato's eyes. "Urthblood's birds … an' if that badger's really cooperatin' with Tratton in any way t'all, even if it's just t' keep the Accord in place, might they not share infermation 'tween each other with those winged messengers? An' if Urthblood's 'seen' any o' what we been doin' here with 'is prophetic sight, an' clues in Tratton … "

"Naw, that ain't happ'nin'," Laura simply assured the worried rats and mouse around her. "Badger's keepin' his birdies fer himself. Ain't sharin' with nobeast."

Tropsa bent his thought to the matter, then voiced another possibility. "If that's true, then mebbe Urthblood knows about our rebellion, an' is keepin' it from Tratton … mebbe even conspirin' t' keep Tratton inland, where he's outta touch with his navy an' unable t' do anything about us?"

"Naw, that ain't happ'nin' neither. Redbadger don't know what we're doin'."

"An' why wouldn't he?" Tropsa challenged. "Urthblood sees an' knows what nobeast else can."

"'Cos th' seer hides th' seer. Can't see us 'cos o' that. Can't see anything happ'nin' out this way."

The others stared at her in silence for some moments, absorbing the implications of the ratmaid's assertion. Then Cordato asked, "Well, could Tratton an' Urthblood cooperate in some other way that might work 'gainst us?"

"Don't think so. Ain't like they're friends or nuthin'."

"But, the Accord," Ramjohn said. "He bent over backwards t' make it work with Tratton, even goin' so far as t' round up all you land rats an' give you over to 'im. Peace seems pretty important to Urthblood."

"Naw, neither one's all in fer peace. Why d'ya think King Ratty had th' shipkiller built?"

"You sayin' Tratton's been preparin' fer renewed war 'gainst Urthblood?" asked Potdar. "Even after gettin' all us land rats, an' payin' lip service to peaceful relations with that badger?"

"Tain't no secret 'mongst us searats that Tratton never did trust that badger," Cordato said. "Never slacked off pushin' Clucus t' come up with new types o' weapons, new ways t' make ships 'n' sails fireproof. Dunno whether he was countin' on Urthblood betrayin' him, or strikin' first 'imself, but Terramort was never put on any peacetime footing that I heard o', not even after the Accord. An' Urthblood's voyage t' Southsward makes sense in this light too - tryin' t' drum up new alliances fer when the Accord fails."

"Maybe he's tryin' t' do more than that." Ramjohn's gaze went to Latura. "I was there at Salamandastron when this one came through, an' quite a ruckus she caused too. Closest thing to a fright I've ever seen anybeast give Urthblood - I'd swear he was more afeared of her than he ever was of Tratton. Claimed there was somethin' to her that coulda undone all his work, an' undone him as well. Somethin' protectin' her in such a way that he dare not slay her, or it would've meant his own downfall."

"I can berlieve that," Cordato attested, thinking of everything that had happened since Latura boarded the _Redfoam_ . "We all can, after what we seen o' her."

"So here's th' thing," Ramjohn went on. "If Lord Urthblood had such a clear idea of what your Lattie could do, could it be that he sent her Tratton's way to do exactly what she's doin' now: start an all-out war, rat against rat, that'd either topple Tratton an' end his Empire, or at the very least leave him so greatly weakened that he never poses any serious threat to Urthblood again."

Everyrat present turned his gaze on Latura. "That true, Lattie?" questioned Cordato. "You workin' fer Urthblood?"

She shook her head. "Ain't workin' fer nobeast. 'Specially not bigbadredbadger. He was mean t' me. Wanted t' take my head, but wasn't his t' take. So, sent me t' sea instead, 'long with Paltryrat. Where is he, anyways?"

"Down below, where that miserable example of rathood belongs," Cordato half-growled. "If he weren't with you, I'da like as not chucked 'im overboard myself by now."

Ramjohn brought the conversation back on topic. "Just 'cos she ain't a willin' part of it don't mean this still wasn't Urthblood's design all along."

"But if that's true," said Tropsa, "that means … we're all doin' Urthblood's bidding right now. Fightin' a war 'gainst Tratton fer him, so he don't hafta."

"Which leaves th' question," picked up Potdar, "o' just who our real enemy is here: Tratton … or Urthblood?"

"Or both?" said Tropsa.

"Urthblood's no friend o' mine," said the land rat. "He's th' one who rousted me an' ev'ry rat I ever known outta our homes, rounded us up an' marched us off to th' coast in bonds, destined fer lives o' misery. If this is all some secret scheme o' his t' further his own aims at the expense of all our lives, I say we call this war off right now an' make our getaway. We can go back to Cap'n Cordato's orig'nal plan, head north then west then south again, to regions far from Trartton's control, an' far from Urthblood too. Now we got th' shipkiller, we can go wherever we want, an' ain't nobeast t' stop us!"

"Is that what he wanted to do?" Ramjohn looked to Cordato. "Now that woulda been a brash an' bold move. But if you strike out that way now, your 'shipkiller' won't be goin' with you. I got unfinished business in these waters. I'll not be goin' to my grave until I take a dreadnought called th' _Skyburn_ with me."

The three male rats directed their surprised gazes to the mouse among them. "What's yer grief with th' _Skyburn_ , matey?" inquired Cordato.

"She's th' ship that captured th' _Goodwill_ an' slew all my crew. An' now that I've got my vessel back again - with an extra liddle barb to 'er courtesy of Tratton's weapon shops - I'll not rest 'til I hunt down that dreadnought an' put 'er on the seabottom!"

"In that case, friend, 'fraid I got some bad news fer you … or mebbe good news, dependin' on how y' wanna take it." Cordato proceeded to relate the account of their encounter with the _Skyburn_ , and the larger ship's destruction - an episode which had not yet been divulged to Ramjohn by Latura or any of the other rats. As the rebel captain finished his tale, Ramjohn slumped in his chair, disappointed dejection writ large on his face at the realization that fate had denied him his chance of retribution against the specific ship and crew who had so wronged him. Justice had been meted out, but by paws other than his own. Never would he have the satisfaction of personal vengeance against the searats who most richly deserved it.

"So, does that change yer plans?" Cordato asked him. "Wouldja wanna make a run fer it, north an' west, after all?"

Ramjohn mulled it over. "No. Not really. It was still Tratton an' his ferret weaponsmaster who gave orders for th' _Goodwill_ to be seized. You may've taken care o' that maskface too, but there's still plenny o' ships in Tratton's navy, an' every one we can sink's a blow against Tratton 'imself. 'Sides, no offense, but I can't see me sneakin' off to parts unknown t' live out the rest of my days with rats as my only companions."

Cordato cracked a sardonic smile. "None taken. It's a novelty treatin' with a mouse as an equal, but not sure we'd be able to accept it fer th' long run any more'n you could. So, guess it's back t' sailin' an' sinkin', fer as long as we can pull it off, huh?"

"Which brings me back to my original question: do we run away from th' Doldrums t' try'n escape detection, or do we head back there an' pick off any rescue ships that come out to see what happened to Clucus an' his shipkiller?" Ramjohn stabbed his paw down at a nautical map spread out over Trangle's table. "An' if we don't go back, where do we go?"

"Well, there's two problems with headin' back to th' Doldrums, logistic'ly," answered Cordato. "First off, when we grabbed th' shipkiller fer ourselves an' sank th' _Gullslayer_ , our enemies were thoughtful enuff t' line up all our targets fer us, so all we hadta do was get aboard that weapon ship, aim an' shoot. Can't rely on that happ'nin' a second time, an' without any way t' use our sails in that becalmed zone, it'd be tough fer us to maneuver in order ta line up our shots. More to th' point, the craft Terramort's likely t' send out to investergate will be their fleetrunners - small, fast boats that'd be almost impossible t' target. An' if we tried an' missed, as we almost surely would, they'd beat it back t' Terramort with news that th' _Redfoam_ 's now an enemy ship, an' then the entire Fleet really would be out huntin' us. Naw, we gotta go for'ard, not back. Gotta keep th' element o' surprise on our side fer as long as we can."

Ramjohn sighed. "Ah well. S'pose we'll still run inta other ships of Tratton's out on th' sea lanes we can take down."

"'m hungry," said Latura.

"An' that brings up another thing," Cordato continued, picking up on Latura's non sequitur. "On our raid back there, we picked up a whole bunch more mouths t' feed, an' no more food or water t' sustain them or us. It's nice havin' enuff paws on board t' fully staff th' _Redfoam_ agin, or nearly so, but that won't do us no good once we all start goin' hungry an' thirsty. Our stocks're low an' gettin' lower, an' while it ain't a crisis yet, it soon will be. We can't keep on sailin' th' sea endlessly; eventshully, we'll have no choice but ta put inta port somewhere t' replenish our supplies. An' that rules out loiterin' around in th' Doldrums waitin' on craft we prob'ly wouldn't be able t' sink anyway."

"Could allers go back t' the isle of melons an' insecks," Potdar joked, eliciting mirthless chuckles from the two searats, while Latura looked on without reaction and Ramjohn wondered what was so funny.

"But seriously," the land rat went on, "I know y' can't drink seawater - any fool knows that - "

"You didn't," Cordato reminded him, "when you asked that very question right after we all freed ourselves from th' rowin' galley an' we're takin' stock o' what we had on paw."

Potdar bristled at this gleeful belittlement. "Anyway, as I was _sayin'_ , can't we take some food from th' sea? Seems to me it's full o' fish an' other critters we c'n eat, so why don't we do that, an' steer clear o' any ports where we'd only find trouble?"

"Harvestin' the sea's bounty's always a hit-or-miss propersition," Cordato explained. "Sure, we could try, but we're sailors, not anglers. We got nets aboard we could trail out after us an' see what we come up with, but unless we luck inta a runnin' shoal or sumpthin' like that, the pickin's 're likely to be mighty slim, an' not enuff t' sustain us."

"An' unless we run inta a mighty storm that lets us refill our rain barrels," Tropsa added, "we'd still have th' problem of runnin' outta drinkin' water."

"My crew an' I sometimes made decent work of haulin' in catches from th' sea, on some of our longer voyages," said Ramjohn.

Potdar slapped the tabletop and motioned to Ramjohn. "Well there y' go! Put this mouse here in charge o' that an' we'll be in fish up to our ears."

"Not so fast," Ramjohn went on. "Only reason that worked is most of my crew was otters. How many otters you got here 'mongst you?" He scanned all the deflated faces around him. "Yeah, thought as much."

"'m hungry," Latura repeated.

"Yah, we _know_ ye're hungry, Lattie," Cordato groaned. "So let us grown-ups try'n figger out what we're gonna do about it, huh?"

"Mebbe we could raid th' stocks of th' next ship we take down," Potdar suggested.

"An' how would we do that?" Cordato chastised the land rat. "Only way we'll sink anymore ships is by surprise, an' once we harpoon 'em with a lit stormpowder keg, they won't be in any shape fer boardin'. Not when they're blasted apart an' sinkin'."

"Who sez we only hafta target Tratton's warships?" proposed Tropsa. "Still lotsa trader vessels plyin' wave an' wake … an' under the Accord, they'll be expectin' t' be stopped an' inspected by warships flyin' the red, black an' green like we are. We could take 'em unawares, board 'em an' raid 'em fer what we - "

Ramjohn cut in, hackles visibly raised. "You start targeting trader vessels, an' I _will_ aim my 'shipkiller' at the _Redfoam_."

"There's a middle ground we can settle on," Cordato jumped in, defusing the suddenly-tense atmosphere in Trangle's stateroom. "Not alla Tratton's ships are warships either. He's got lumber barges an' ore freighters an' general cargo haulers, lightly-crewed an' lightly-armed. We go after some o' those, we should be able t' seize 'em without blastin' 'em, an' mebbe then we c'n get what we need in th' way o' vittles an' drink."

"So, we're def'nitely stayin' in these seas an' not fleein' fer parts unknown?" probed Tropsa. "Gonna stay an' fight Tratton, even if that means we're doin' Urthblood's dirty work fer him, fightin' his war an' dancin' on strings that he's pullin'?"

"Urthblood don't really matter t' me now," replied Cordato. "That badger ain't threat'nin' our necks out here at sea. It's Tratton's ships we've seized an' sunk, Tratton's fighters we've slain … which means it'll be Tratton who'll come t' collect our souls, an' Tratton we gotta be prepared t' stand 'gainst."

"I'm hungry!" Latura declared for the third time, with a forcefulness that made every rat and mouse break off their discussion and stare at her. "I'm hungry. Wanna go here." She stabbed at the nautical map in a most decisive fashion.

When the others leaned forward for a closer look, they all saw that Latura's paw was planted firmly on Talaga.


	52. Chapter LI

**LI.**

 **REDWALL**

Spring gave way to summer, but one thing which stayed the same at Redwall was the pervading sense that, even through the change of seasons, everything was happening at once.

The arrival of Nameday did little to alleviate this perception, coming as it did on top of the continuing construction of Freetown just across the road, the distribution of various tasks to the rat refugees and their fuller integration into the routine of daily Abbey life, the side-by-side schooling of woodlander and rat youths undertaken jointly by Winokur and Cyrus, the ongoing healer's education of Metellus by Vanessa and Arlyn, the accommodation of Lord Sodexo's family and the mouse/vole clans of Deakyne and Neblett, the birth of another harebabe and another ratbabe, and of course the wider events of surrounding Mossflower, encompassing the Redwallers' work at the quarry, the state of affairs at Foxguard now that the presence of Jaffox there had leaked out from indiscreet Sparra bills to become common knowledge, and of course the unfolding Purge of the Rats which colored all else and hung over the lands like a stifling leaden blanket. Along with concerns about Alexander's absence and well-being, and about Urthblood's ultimate intentions toward Redwall and Mossflower, it all amounted to more than enough to occupy everybeast's mind.

All of which served to suit Vanessa's purposes most conveniently, for underneath these surface events she proceeded with her very discreet efforts to undermine and oppose that Purge, along several fronts. Most of the Abbeybeasts never paid much attention to the daily comings and goings of the Sparra, except for special occasions like reports from the quarry or Foxguard, so those winged scouts and messengers now served as the enhanced Abbess's leading and most far-reaching agents in helping some of Mossflower's rats elude capture. Then of course there was Grayfoot, and the mole and hedgehog volunteers who were in on the scheme as well to help deflect Gawtrybe suspicions from the ferret and take the blame if the barkeep's part in this resistance were to be discovered. But most crucial of all were the hares, whose clandestine, nocturnal activities out in the Western Plains lay at the heart of providing the rat fugitives with a hidden sanctuary where they might shelter unbeknownst to their hunters. The recall of Choock's shrews to Foxguard had helped this endeavor somewhat, removing those enemy eyes and ears from this particular theater of operations, but the Long Patrol onsite at the former lair of the Flitch-aye-aye were mostly on their own, authorized to act autonomously as they saw fit and to conduct affairs on the scene and proceed according to their best judgment. At least their protracted absence had not been noted by the general populace of Redwall, the Long Patrol's habit of keeping largely to themselves paying off in this instance.

It seemed, however, that the ranks of their conspiracy had unwittingly grown by one.

"I think Metellus knows," Winokur confided to Vanessa during the latest of their Infirmary consortations, attended by Clewiston and Maura as well.

"Yes, I think so too," agreed the Badgermum. "He's been dropping hints in my presence, and some of them none too subtle."

"Of course he knows, or at least strongly suspects," Vanessa said with casual acceptance. "That lad is no dullard. And I'm beginning to suspect myself that his astuteness may go far beyond his easy mastery of the healing arts or facility with names. I daresay he exhibits some of the same otherworldly gift that Mona possesses, if in less macabre manifestation. He even came right out and asked me the other day whether, if he thought somebeast was keeping an important secret, he ought to say anything about it, or let them keep it for whatever reasons they decided were best. I could tell he was alluding to me, and the look on his face … it was his way of letting me know, without coming right out and saying it, that he'd figured it out for himself. If true, I can imagine why a beast of his tender seasons might feel overwhelmed by such an astonishing realization, and uncertain what to do about it. I must say he hit upon a solution which would not have occurred most beasts twice his age, tipping his paw while allowing me to keep my secret uncompromised."

"What did you tell him?" Maura asked.

"That if a creature of good heart withholds something from their fellow goodbeasts, there is most likely very good reason for it, and discretion is always the wise course in deciding who else should be let in on the secret."

Clewiston snorted. "Wish you'd jolly well tell US one of these days the reason for all your bloomin' secrecy, wot?"

"So, _are_ we going to let him in on our secret?" Winokur asked. "Or rather, your secret? If our conspiracy grows much bigger, we might as well just have Geoff announce it at the start of the next evening meal, or at Nameday itself."

"You overstate the matter just a bit," Vanessa replied. "We've had to include a number of creatures in our insurgency against Urthblood - or, more specifically, against his Purge - including nearly the entire Long Patrol and most of our Sparra friends. But as far as the core secret within that larger secret, that remains restricted to the four of us here, and Field Marshal Traveller."

"And now Metellus too," Maura amended.

"So it seems," Vanessa conceded. "Although I trust him not to go telling stories out of school - or out of the Infirmary, as the case may be."

"Did you … 'work' on him at all?" Winokur ventured, somewhat delicately. "To ensure his silence?"

"I didn't deem it necessary - or advisable, since I prefer to engage in such mental persuasion as little as possible. Metellus is truly wiser than his seasons, and can appreciate the gravity of these days. He'll understand that if I want this secret kept, it's best kept for everybeast involved."

"What about Mona?" queried Clewiston. "That little waking episode of hers when th' whole rest of the Abbey was s'posed to be noddin' off still perplexes me. Think there's any chance she's divined who you really are, an' might go hollerin' it about?"

"It's … possible, I suppose. Mona's a bit of a special case, and I still can't quite pin down exactly what's going on with her. She surely knows I was the one who put the Abbey to sleep, and that my powers in that area are considerable, but whether she'll make the complete connection, I really can't hazard a guess. But since Urthblood already clearly knows my identity, I don't think the situation could be made much worse if she did figure out the truth for herself, and went blabbing it around Foxguard … assuming she could get anybeast to believe her."

Winokur frowned. "I can think of one beast at Foxguard I certainly wouldn't want to learn the truth. If Jaffox were to find out, who can say what trouble he could cause."

Vanessa's expression turned to one of disdain. "Jaffox is a brutish clown, and no threat to me or this Abbey. If Tolar doesn't keep him in his place, I will .. although I'll admit his presence at Foxguard does complicate matters somewhat, at least as far as my hopes toward Tolar go. When it was just the Sword and Custis squared off against each other, the dynamic was simple and straightforward. Without knowing Urthblood's true intent in calling Jaffox down from the Northlands, or what secret orders he may have given that bully in regard to Tolar, we can only wait and see how that turns out. But for now, Jaffox is Tolar's problem, not ours."

"I hope you're right, marm," said Clewiston. "From all I've heard about that monster, I'd not want him turning his sights on Redwall. But back to Metellus for a tick. That lad's closeness an' affection for Mona could be a worry too. If he's figured out who you are, an' our vixen friend even half-guesses … "

"Another reason I've advised our young badger healer to suspend any further trips to Foxguard at this time. But even if I hadn't, I trust Metellus. It's become common knowledge throughout Redwall that Martin and Urthblood stand at odds, and for those of you who know the truth, Urthblood's ploy with that false note to Lady Mina can only be seen for what it was. Metellus knows the stakes. He may have tipped his paw to me, perhaps more to see how I would react than to satisfy his own curiosity, but for now I am confident he will keep it to himself."

She turned to Clewiston. "How goes it with your hares in the Western Plains, Colonel? Have you received any further reports as to how many refugees have reached them?"

"Yah. Reports. About that, marm. I was actshully hopin' _you_ could tell _me_ how things're goin' out that way. Limited to travellin' by night, it's three or four days out to that Flitch-aye place, which makes easy communication with our hares there iffy at best, 'specially since we dare not send our sparrows out there durin' daylight, an' they can't fly at night. All up to us Long Patrol, it is. Some of my guides have reported conductin' a fair few rats partway there and settin' them on the right bally trail, but as to how many have reached that haven safely … " Clewiston shrugged. "For all I know our ruse has been discovered already by His Bloodiness, all my hares there slain an' all the rats we tried to help led away in fetters."

"I very much doubt _that's_ happened, Colonel. If our overzealous Captain Custis came into any hard proof that anybeast within our walls has been helping rat fugitives to such a degree, I'm sure he'd be at our gates with a full siege force. The fact that Elmwood's patrols - and your own - continue to forage for food in nearer Mossflower largely unmolested suggests we remain as yet undiscovered in our efforts. He's threatened before to forbid any replenishment of our food stocks at all if we displease him greatly. And this, I am sure, would displease him greatly."

Clewiston levelled a searching gaze at the incognito Warrior. "Havin' second thoughts 'bout this undertakin', marm?"

"On the contrary, Colonel, if frustrates me that we have done only this much. We need to send the message to Urthblood and the Gawtrybe that Mossflower is not theirs for the terrorizing, and that they will never have things all their own way here. And now is the time to assert ourselves, with Urthblood's attention drawn away to the far south and Foxguard divided. My immediate aim is to establish our Plains haven as a sanctuary that any rats who make it that far will be able to sustain for themselves after a while, allowing us to redeploy your Long Patrol to other pursuits - even if that's just reinforcing Abbey defenses here while we leave it to others to work toward frustrating the Gawtrybe in their Purge."

"Yah," muttered the hare commander, "the way those red devils harassed an' shadowed my messengers through the woods south of here, made it so they had one paw tied behind their backs right from the blinkin' outset. It's been mostly up to our birdfriends to get the word out, an' it's lookin' like they've had much greater success than we ever did."

Winokur gave a vaguely guilty smirk. "Whatever would Abbot Geoff say if he ever found out all this was going on right under his nose?"

"Geoff is a simple soul, easily occupied by simple matters," said Vanessa. "And I don't mean that as an insult, since such innocent spirits have been at the heart of Redwall for much of its history. And matters these days are far from simple, even from Geoff's end. He has more on his plate to keep him busy than most of our past Abbots and Abbesses ever did. Not only might he not approve or sanction our own activities, but even learning of them would likely overwhelm him. If we're to do this at all, it's best we do it as we are, without the knowledge or involvement of the other Abbey leaders. Right now we have the perfect balance: just enough of us know about our efforts against Urthblood to spur the rest of the Abbey to action should it become necessary, but we still number few enough to keep things on the sly for the moment. Depending on Urthblood's next move in our direction, we'll be able to … "

Her voice trailed off and a distant, vacant look came to her eyes. It took the others a few moments to realize this was no mere dramatic or contemplative pause. Exchanging concerned glances amongst themselves, Maura took it upon herself to probe," Abbess? Nessa? Is something … wrong?"

When the mouse didn't respond right away, Clewiston voiced his own concern. "Marm? Wot's amiss?" He was almost tempted to snap his paws in front of her nose to break her trance, but refrained.

Moments later, Vanessa broke her own trance, shaking her head as her eyes refocused on her fellow Abbeybeasts. "Well, that was unexpected."

"Um, what was?" Winokur ventured.

"It appears that this very strange spring and summer is about to become even stranger … and that we're about to get some very unusual and unexpected guests for Nameday."

00000000000

"Is it my imagination, or does it seem like there are far fewer hares around the Abbey these days?"

Geoff stood with Lekkas and Clovis out on the Freetown site across the ditch and road from Redwall. Lord Sodexo and his wife Hekko lingered nearby, as curious to see for themselves the construction's progress as they were determined to provide extra protection for their host during Geoff's excursion beyond the high walls of his home. All five now regarded the trio of Long Patrol ranging farther out into the Plains past the building site, the long-eared scouts having elicited Geoff's comment.

"I really can't say, Abbot," Lekkas responded. "I've been spending so much time out here to oversee and help with Freetown, I really can't keep tabs on what's been going on inside the Abbey. And quite honestly, the way those hares are always coming and going, and sleep off by themselves down in their tunnels, I've never had an easy time keeping track of them."

"Well, as Abbot, it's my place to be aware of such presences and absences. I know the Colonel sent a few of his hares down Grayfoot's way a while back with some new beddings and food stocks, but it's not clear to me that they ever returned, and if they did, when. And these days we're seeing them more active out here in the Plains than they've ever been before. It's all making me start to wonder … "

"Wonder what, Abbot?" Clovis asked with genuine curiosity. "Why wouldn't they expand their regular patrols to the nearer Plains? They always did at least some runs out here anyway, even before Freetown, and now that we're out here ourselves engaged in construction on a daily basis, it only makes sense that they'd heighten their own profile, in case any of the Gawtrybe or Urthblood's other creatures should seek to harass us or interfere with our work here."

"I am in agreement with these two good mice, Abbot Geoff," Sodexo concurred. "I rest easier knowing your most fleet-footed defenders now conduct sweeps out here where your otters and squirrels could not so easily cover the necessary ground, and thus add an extra layer of security to this worthy endeavor."

"Yes, yes, I suppose … " Geoff's gaze went from the loping hares in the distance to the grand endeavor itself to which Sodexo had referred. The cellar lining of Freetown's central hall was all in place now, the walls and support columns finally starting to rise and take shape. At present the budding architecture still stood as little more than the suggestion of a structural skeleton or final form of the finished building, but still, after so long in the planning, Geoff found abundant encouragement in the sight of those vertical brick planes and pillars sticking up from the ground and reaching up in the golden glow of the late afternoon sunshine. A testament to all the work and vision that had gone into conceiving and laying the groundwork for it, Freetown was at last becoming a reality, if only one building at a time.

"Still," the Abbot went on, "I can't shake the feeling these days that certain parties within our community are taking it upon themselves to act as they see fit, without properly appraising or consulting with the recognized authorities within Redwall. There are just certain ways things are done, you know."

Lekkas allowed himself a knowing smile. "You mean Vanessa."

"Of course I mean Vanessa! And Winokur, and Maura too! And yet whenever I take them aside to address my concerns, they just smile and tell me not to worry over such minor matters that they can manage on their own and to focus my energies on the larger affairs of running Redwall … it feels like they're totally brushing me off! It also feels sometimes like they're making sure I'm distracted by a nonstop parade of minor, daily, routine trivialities to keep me too occupied to pay attention to what they're up to … "

"Up to?" asked Hekko. "As I understand it, Brother Winokur has been kept quite busy himself conducting joint classes between the Abbey children and the rat lads and lasses - and our own Bostany on top of that, which can't be any picnic, even if she has largely resigned herself to Abbey schooling. And as for Mother Maura, who's as fine and upstanding a badger as any I've ever known, she's got her paws quite full with all the leverets and other babes and toddlers. All of which wouldn't leave either of them time for much else, so whatever you imagine might be going on, I can't think there can be very much to it."

"Well, yes, when you put it that way … but now it almost seems the Colonel is in on it too, judging by how much he's been seen lately in the company of the other three."

"The Colonel?" Sodexo said with raised eyebrows. "You mean the very same hare who arrested the Abbess and accused her of being Urthblood's tool?"

"Yes, well, he's certainly backed away from any such assertions, hasn't he? And his regard for Vanessa these days seems less contrite and apologetic over that incident, as you'd think it would be, and far more companionly toward her than he'd ever been before. All of which ties neatly back to the dearth of hares at the Abbey nowadays."

"I wouldn't call it a dearth," Lekkas remarked. "Look, there are some up on the walltop right now, standing sentry duty, and at breakfast I was positively shoulder-to-shoulder with a good half-dozen, including Field Marshal Traveller. If any have gone missing, can't prove it by me!"

"Just what exactly is it you think they might be doing anyway?" Hekko asked Geoff. "It's not like they could be going after Latura again; by now, that ratmaid must have reached Salamandastron to meet whatever sad fate Urthblood had in mind for her. And they hardly number enough, formidable fighters though they be, to challenge that badger's forces in any meaningful way."

"Well, no, of course they couldn't do _that_ ," Geoff conceded. "But I'd not put it past them to be causing some other manner of trouble … laying traps, or helping rats, or trying to talk some of Mossflower's locals residents into opposing Urthblood … "

"That last I would fully favor myself," Sodexo declared. "Indeed, if our adversary pushes matters much further, it may prove an unavoidable recourse. And, should full-scale hostilities break out, I would return to the southlands of Mossflower to raise whatever forces I can to come to Redwall's aid - and those forces might not be inconsiderable."

"If full-scale hostilities break out," Lekkas pointed out, "you might not be able to get back to the Southern Glades, Lord. Urthblood would surely figure out what you meant to do - or 'see' it, as the case may be - and order his forces to prevent you from reaching there, one way or the other."

"Then perhaps I have been remiss in not departing for my home before now."

"To tell them what, Lord?" Lekkas asked. "War has not broken out, and it may not - indeed, I'm sure we all pray it doesn't, and me especially, since that would mean suspending all work on Freetown, and having to abandon it until peace holds sway once more. As for yourself, you can't very well raise forces to march into a war that hasn't happened yet, and may not happen at all."

Geoff's paws worked nervously without the Abbot mouse even being fully aware of it. "Yes … yes, let's hope it doesn't happen."

"Although if it does," Clovis put in, "we could always send out Sparra messengers to carry Lord Sodexo's summons to his creatures for him. Those birds might reach the Southern Glades where he might not."

Lekkas was hardly convinced. "With all Urthblood's gulls and other birds patrolling the skies above Mossflower? I think they'd be picked off rather easily."

"Not if they stuck to the woods, flying between the trees," Sodexo countered, unwittingly voicing the exact strategy currently being pursued by Redwall's birdfolk in Vanessa's effort to save some of the region's rats from the Purge. "The forest holds out almost continuously between here and the Big Inland Lake, if not always along the most direct route, so they would have the cover to fly unobserved by higher-circling winged spies and warriors. Of course, whether they could stir the beasts of lower Mossflower to action the way that I could, were I on paw to deliver my plea directly to their ears … " The badger shrugged. "In any event, this all stands as pure conjecture, since Colonel Clewiston has _not_ approached me in regard to any plans or plots against Urthblood, or the Gawtrybe - and it strikes me he almost certainly would have, had he any such mischief in mind, seeing as how vocal I have been in my willingness to oppose this encroaching tyranny in any way that I may. This suggests he and the Long Patrol might not be 'up to' anything after all, and are merely engaged in heightened readiness as would be expected of them in such times as these."

"Yes, I suppose you're probably right," granted Geoff, who surely would have been appalled had he known the true scope of everything the former Abbess and returned Warrior had set into motion. "And with all the Nameday preparations facing us, I suppose I'm only taking unneeded angst upon myself by worrying about something that probably doesn't bear worrying about."

"Still not going to tell us the name you've chosen for the season?" Lekkas lightly pried with an equally light tone and smile.

"All will be revealed on the morrow, my good Mayor-in-Waiting! Must keep the key Nameday surprise for Nameday itself, mustn't we? And while I will admit to being just a mite disappointed, I suppose it's for the best that you and Clovis decided to hold off on things and not give us a wedding to have to squeeze into the celebrations, with everything else that's going on these days."

"Yes, we've decided that when the time comes, Clovis and I would like to take our vows in the completed central hall of Freetown … although we will of course still ask you to perform the ceremony, even if we are to reside outside the Abbey walls."

"Oh, yes, of course, of course … and I see that gives you one additional reason to hope peace holds over Mossflower, so you don't have to delay your wedding any longer than you already are. Then again, yours wasn't the only wedding I'd imagined I might be approached about for this season's Nameday."

"Ah. You speak of Cyril and Jiriel." Lekkas let his smile become a bit more knowing. "I do believe that mousemaid came to Redwall with marriage on her mind, and our former bellringer in her sights. They do seem genuinely enamored of each other, at least from what I've seen and heard, and they spend all the time together that they can. I'm surprised they've not declared their intentions yet. I can't imagine what they're waiting for, since it's obvious to everybeast else."

"I can perhaps understand their hesitation," Sodexo weighed in. "Between what Jiriel and her family witnessed on their way to Redwall, and what you Abbeyfolk have had to endure since the start of this whole Purge affair, the two of them together can appreciate what uncertain times these are, and question whether this is the right time to indulge in such personal pursuits."

Lekkas smirked. "Since when have tumultuous times stopped the frivolities of the romance-minded?"

"Too true, my friend," Geoff agreed. "The big question now is, did Jiriel journey here with becoming a permanent Abbeybeast in mind? Because if she and Cyril were to wed, they'd have to decide whether to remain here, or if Cyril will return with Jiriel and her family to dwell in their riverside lodge in lower Mossflower. Perhaps they're still discussing this themselves, and that might also be why they delay."

"Why would anybeast choose to live someplace other than Redwall if they could?" asked Clovis. "I'm sure Deakyne and Neblett have a perfectly fine home on the river that suits them well, but compared to the majesty and splendor of Redwall … "

"The splendor and majesty of _crowded_ Redwall," Lekkas put in. "And let's not forget which beasts are causing so much of that crowding. Perhaps Jiriel would balk at having to share the Abbey with so many rats. For that matter, Cyril too might relish being away from them, even if it means trading his lifelong home for more modest accommodations elsewhere. Home is where the heart lies, after all, and if Jiriel has his heart, he might be content to follow her anywhere."

"Cyril seems not to be overly bothered by our rat guests, actually," said Geoff. "And I'm not sure Jiriel is either. In fact, I think more and more of us are starting to adopt the view first espoused by some of our youngsters that our rat friends are just 'big mice.' Sometimes it really is true that the wisdom of the young can cast light on the set ways of the old, and make us see things as we otherwise wouldn't."

Lekkas scoffed. "Big mice? Maybe it could equally be said, Abbot, that sometimes the young lack the wisdom and experience to tell the difference between what's a game and what's not. This is no game … and please tell me you haven't decided to name this season after those beasts?"

Geoff showed some slight pique at this, over both Lekkas's intransigent attitude toward a topic they had already debated into the ground on previous occasions and the insinuation that any Abbot's decision might be called into question. "And so what if I have? Just allowing all those rats into our home has been a major event in Redwall history, and now that we're currently undertaking the task of getting them more fully settled into Abbey life, their presence occupies the daily attention of a great many of our brothers and sisters and many of our other residents. And I must say, they have for the most part shown great promise with the various tasks they've taken upon themselves, in all areas of Abbey routine. Between that and the work Winokur and Cyrus have done with their joint teaching sessions, our rat friends are becoming less and less a burden or imposition on our way of life and more contributing members of our community."

"Yes, and hasn't Abbess Vanessa been putting a great deal of time into this effort as well?" Clovis said. "From what I hear, she's practically been vetting each candidate personally, in order to determine the best match for each rat to their assigned task. That's one reason I might doubt she's been scurrying around engaged in any mysterious, secret conspiracies: it seems to me that she's been kept quite busy enough just by what we _have_ seen her doing!"

"Yes, that is true," Geoff admitted. "In any event, Lekkas, you and your fellow former slaves have had two consecutive seasons named with you in mind, so as I see it, you've no cause for complaint or standing for protest no matter who I've decided to name this season after."

"Ah," Lekkas pounced, "so you admit you've named it after some _beast_ , and not some _thing_ , such as Freetown."

"As long as it's not after me, or my family," Sodexo weighed in. "I am a simple Lord, seeking no glory or tribute for myself, and would just as soon not have my comings and goings memorialized in any historical annals."

"Too late for that, I'm afraid," Geoff told the badger, "since I'm certain Winokur has already made multiple mentions of you in his diaries, as has Cyrus, as apprentice Recorder. I have even done so myself, in fact; between my recent uncertain status of going from Abbot back to Recorder and then reinstated as Abbot again, and my habit of keeping my own journal as a holdover from my historian's days anyway, I still jot down any notable Abbey events as they impact my own thoughts and observations … and your presence among us most certainly counts as noteworthy, Lord, even in the larger sweep of everything that's been going on these days."

Sodexo accepted this, while his wife remarked, "Gee, with no fewer than three of you keeping diaries, this will most surely go down as the most thoroughly-documented period in Redwall history!"

"That it just might … although if any era of our history deserved such treatment, this present one is surely it!" Geoff cocked an ear at the sound of the Matthias and Methuselah bells tolling out across the summer afternoon. "I think Cyril and Cyrus are a bit early for the dinner toll … unless they're showing some of their potential replacements the ropes. Oh, haha, get it? The ropes - I'd made a pun and I hadn't even realized it!"

"Yes, very … droll, Abbot," Lekkas commented, all too aware that two of the mouse bellringers' prospective replacements were a pair of young rats from Harth's refugees, and that was a prospect which cheered the former slave not in the slightest.

Geoff studied the tolling pattern further. "No, that's definitely not any meal summons, or any regular daily tolling at all. In fact, unless I am very much mistaken, that's the greeting to welcome travellers, visitors and guests to the Abbey. Now I wonder why Cyril and Cyrus would be demonstrating that one?"

Sodexo glanced up to the walltop in time to see several Sparra winging their way over the battlements and heading south with determined speed. "Perhaps it is not merely a demonstration, Abbot Geoff."

Even as they looked on from across the road, the main Abbey gates opened and out strode Vanessa, Winokur, Maura and Clewiston, in the company of Montybank and several of his otters, along with Log-a-Log and a muster of his Guosim. The entire group of them assembled in the path, expectantly gazing south.

"Whatever could this be about?" Geoff wondered.

"One way to find out, isn't there?" Lekkas led the way to the simple stone bridge spanning the ditch (and conveniently built atop the hidden tunnel connecting the Abbey to the future Freetown), leaving the others to follow in his pawsteps. Soon, all had joined Vanessa's group in the road. "Expecting company?" the liberated slave prompted of the former Abbess.

"As a matter of fact we are," replied Vanessa. "A large mixed company of Gawtrybe … and rats."

None seemed enamored of this news, Sodexo and Hekko grimacing over the idea of more of the arrogant militaristic squirrels heading their way, while Lekkas and Clovis saved their scowls for the rats, of which they already had far too many in their present lives for their liking … which left Geoff to voice his own concerns.

"Well, this will be the first time the Gawtrybe have brought any number of their prisoners right past our gates, so I wonder what this is all about. Although I'd hardly say this qualifies them as guests, Nessa, since those squirrels won't be welcome past our gates, and I very much doubt they mean to deliver their captives into our protection."

"We are in total agreement about the Gawtrybe," Vanessa told Geoff. "They are not to be admitted into Redwall under any circumstances. The rats with them, however, are not prisoners. They march unfettered and fully armed, under pennants of red, black and green."

Sodexo, being an inland Badger Lord, failed to grasp the significance of these three colors. And Geoff, with so much else on his mind these days, also missed this verbal clue, in spite of making note of it in his journals on previous occasions. But Clovis and Lekkas, having served in bondage under those colors for seasons, both nearly gasped in alarmed horror.

"Searats?" Lekkas declared. "There are searats, coming to Redwall?"

"So it would appear," said Vanessa. "Not enough to constitute any manner of assault force, though certainly more than a diplomatic delegation would require. Makes one wonder what they're up to, doesn't it?"

"But … if it's not an assault force," Geoff half-stammered, "does this mean Matowick _wasn't_ lying when he raised the proposal of a searat delegation to Redwall? That he wasn't simply using that as a cover story to get at Latura after all?"

"I might suggest we ask them when they arrive, but given the Gawtrybe's proven history of evasion and outright deception where we're concerned, I doubt they'd give us an answer which would mean anything at all. As for the truthfulness and trustworthiness of searats … " Vanessa shrugged. "But I have a feeling that in this case, the two may be unrelated, and that the company visiting us now has nothing to do with Matowick's mission of abduction."

"We should all get back inside the Abbey," Lekkas urged. "Get back behind those high walls, bar the gates and double all the guards. If there are searats in Mossflower, that can only bode ill."

"But, Lekkas," said Vanessa, with an air of theatrical disappointment, "don't you want to be on paw to hear what they have to say? Besides, if Freetown had been completed and a group like this came along, you'd not have any walls around your community, would you? Or are you planning to all come running into Redwall whenever any suspect journeybeasts are spotted heading our way?"

"But, Abbess," Clovis countered imploringly, "these are … _searats_."

"So we're jolly well aware," Clewiston retorted. "And don't think this tickles me pink either, inside my ears or out. We Long Patrol've been trying to convince everyballybeast for seasons now that Urthblood an' Tratton're in bed together, an' maybe this'll be the very moment that proves it, wot? However this sorts itself out, I for one am most eager to hear what these bushtails and seavermin have got to say for themselves, an' how they mean to explain trampin' around in mixed company in our fair lands."

"Do you suppose Alexander could be among them?" Geoff hoped. "That might explain why they are making for Redwall directly, if not why there are so many of them to simply escort an Abbeybeast back home."

"If he is," said Vanessa, "our Sparra scouts will let us know soon enough. That would be a nice little Nameday surprise, wouldn't it? And even if he's not, I'm sure they'll have tidings about him to share with us - assuming they've come here directly from Salamandastron, although I can't imagine they came from anywhere else."

"Yes, but still, Gawtrybe and searats marching together … " Geoff wrung his paws nervously. "What do you suppose it all portends? And what if they are hostile?"

"Monty's here, with the Sword of Martin. If fighting breaks out, I'll just borrow it from him and put those rats in their places."

"This isn't funny, Nessa!"

"No, Geoff, it's not. But something tells me the composition of the approaching searat delegation is intended more for talking than fighting, so talking is what we must be ready to do too."

"And how would you … 'know' this, Abbess?" asked Lekkas. "If you have only just learned of these travellers from our Sparra?"

"I never said that was how I learned of them. And that same intuition tells me to expect some surprises from this group."

"We should stop them," Lekkas declared, casting an eye toward the Freetown construction site. "We should turn them back, or turn them aside, before they get here. I don't want any searat knowing about Freetown."

Vanessa gave him a glance far more playful than Lekkas deemed appropriate for the situation. "Oh really? I'd have thought you'd relish the chance to show your former overlords how well you were doing, rub their snouts in it a bit, taunt them with all the benefits and advantages of your freedom - a freedom forced upon them against their wishes, which would surely rankle them."

"Let's hope it doesn't rankle them so much that they're goaded into attacking Freetown with greater numbers then they've brought with them this time," Clovis worried. "Maybe Lekkas is right; maybe we should try to stop them before they get here."

"Think you're worryin' 'bout nothing, marm," Clewiston said to her. "Or p'raps I should say it's something, all right, but those fears are futile. If Urthblood and Tratton truly are buddies these days, the searats'll know every bally thing that badger's minions know, 'cos they would've traded notes by now an' shared information. Doubt you ever coulda kept Freetown a secret from 'em, no matter what precautions you took."

"And it was your decision to build Freetown directly across the road from Redwall," Vanessa reminded Lekkas. "If this delegation always meant to visit the Abbey, they'd have ended up seeing your endeavor in any case. Rather hard to hide it."

"Perhaps it is good that we haven't started on any of the other buildings," Clovis said. "That way they can't know the true scope of what we plan to build."

"Unless somebeast wags their tongue an' tells 'em," Clewiston warned. "We'll do wot we can to keep that from happening, but kinda hard to stay on top of ev'rybeast we got living here at present."

"I doubt there are many creatures at Redwall who will rush to take searats into their confidence," Vanessa reassured the others. "Our rat refugees have no more reason to look upon searats favorably than you former slaves do, and of course the Long Patrol have lost numbers of their membership to clashes with those seavermin during their seasons at Salamandastron under Lord Urthfist. Even if Tratton's delegation does consist of of envoys travelling under a flag of diplomacy, I suspect they'll not find very many enthusiastic dining partners."

Lekkas turned to Geoff. "Abbot, they can't be let into Redwall. They must not, under any circumstances."

Vanessa did not fail to notice the former slave mouse's appeal to the sitting Abbot, an authority far more likely to decide on the side of caution and agree with Lekkas. "Any circumstances?" she almost teased. "That covers quite a lot."

"And they must _not_ find out about the tunnel linking Redwall to Freetown," Lekkas added.

"Well, we're all on th' same flippin' page there." Clewiston assured the mouse. "No searat scum or felonious frighter can ever learn of that secret passage. Just throw a tarp over that while they're about, so that if they do go pokin' their snouts in where they're not welcome, they'll not spot that there's any stairway leadin' down below the basement foundation we've got laid. We'll just tell our moles an' their helpers not to use the tunnel until our unwelcome visitors have moved on an' left us to ourselves again."

"You might want to post some extra guards around the site, Colonel, just to be safe." Geoff looked over his glasses at the hare. "That's assuming you have enough Long Patrol on paw to spare for such a detail?"

Clewiston ignored the Abbot's pointed probe. "Not t' worry, old bean, we can always roust up all the willing chaps a' chappesses for such needs, wot?"

"I can free some otters from my crew fer that, if y' need 'em," Monty volunteered.

"An' don't ferget my Guosim," Log-a-Log added. "We may only be half th' size o' most rats, but we'll give 'em twice th' guff if any go peekin' where they ain't wanted."

"I'm just worried if they have more in mind than talking," Geoff speculated. "What if they're coming to close down Freetown, and Urthblood has appealed to Tratton for reinforcements to impose his will on us? Or what if they're here to enforce some other equally odious new mandate?"

"I very much doubt Urthblood would call upon searats, who are strangers to the lands, for such help when he's got additional forces in the Northlands he could bring down for that," Vanessa put forth. "No, I think these searats are here for something else - and we'll soon find out what."

And so they all stood, and waited, even as the red badger and the tricolor standards of Salamandastron and Terramort came into view upon the road to the south and drew nearer.


	53. Chapter LII

**LII.**

 **REDWALL**

All that afternoon Tratton marched under the summer sun, with Foxguard rearing toward the sky and watching over him to his right while Redwall lurked unseen somewhere up ahead.

Their company had grown by several since leaving Grayfoot's. In addition to the fugitive rat Barnaget who'd joined them at the disguised Searat King's insistence, Custis had assigned two of his own squirrels to force-march Drewry and Blerim back to Redwall under duress, separating the two Abbeybeasts from the ferret tavern keeper in case they truly were conspiring together to aid fleeing rats in eluding the Gawtrybe sweeps. This would deprive Grayfoot of his only immediate allies, and confining the mole and hedgehog back to their Abbey home would largely serve the same purpose as arresting them, without the onerous implications of the latter or giving the Redwallers further grounds to cry persecution or injustice. All in all, it was the most perfect solution to a grievously imperfect situation.

Even before the legendary red sandstone sanctuary came into view, one of its representatives came out to meet the company bound for it. Or several, even if only one showed the boldness to directly approach the potentially hostile squirrels and rats while the rest of his fellows circled and swooped overhead.

Some of the searats reflexively reached for their arrows at the sight of the Abbeybirds bearing down on them, leaving it to Drewry to wave his paws and shout out, "Hold, hold! These're our Sparra, from Redwall!"

"You heard th' 'hog," Tratton/Redclaw said to his archers. "Hold."

Rafter plopped down into the road before the halted travellers, taking them all in with wide eyes. "Lotsa rats, lotsa squirreldogs, lotsa prettyflags. Youheaded toRedwall?"

"Aye, they are," Drewry answered before Poinsett or anybeast else of her party could. "Fine bunch o' seabutchers an' ratslayers, 'magine that, strollin' 'bout th' lands an' playin' nice. Think they mean t' ask t' be let inta our home too, if you can picture such gall."

The female squirrel stepped forward to address the sparrow. "Sergeant Poinsett, of Lord Urthblood's Gawtrybe at Salamandastron. And this is Captain Redclaw, representing King Tratton of the Searat Empire, and His Majesty's personal and direct envoy to Mossflower. King Tratton deemed the time right for one of his highest-ranking captains to tour the lands, and yes, we do intend to stop at Redwall as part of this walking tour." She shot Drewry a sour look. "Whether we will be allowed past your gates will fall to your Abbot or Abbess, I imagine."

"Notallowed pastgates, methinks willsay." Rafter cocked his head toward Drewry and Blerim. "Why spikedog, diggerdog withyou? Shouldbe at tavern, helping Grayferretface."

"Seems like these bushtailed busybodies didn't care fer th' way we was helpin' out," Drewry answered, again beating Poinsett to the punch before she could promulgate the Gawtrybe party line. "Makin' all kinda wild accursations 'gainst our fine ferret host, who went outta his way t' quench their thirsts an' slake their dust-coated throats from all their wearyin' road travel, an' ain't that a fine how'd-you-do, as our Long Patrol friends would say."

Poinsett scowled at the hedgehog. "Didn't you all but admit that you were helping rats escape from our sweeps?"

"Mebbe I did, mebbe I didn't. An' I'll say no more on _that_ 'til we're before the Abbot an' Abbess."

"Except that, from what you say, we'll never be allowed in to see the Abbot or Abbess at all."

"Shoulda thought o' that 'fore you put our Abbey under siege an' went stealin' away our guests, shouldn'tja?"

Tratton, having already long gathered that some state of tension or hostilities existed between Urthblood and Redwall, nevertheless inwardly perked up at these further confirmations. Outwardly, however, he realized he dare not display any great satisfaction over any of this, so instead he said to Rafter, "That's as may be far as these bushtails go, but we searats ain't never had no quarrel with any o' you Abbeyfolk. I'm hopin' this'll allow us t' pass yer gates, even if y' keep our red escorts out."

"AbbotAbbess decide, whenyou getthere. Youwait an'see - but don't holdbreath!"

Impressing upon the sparrow with a few more terse exchanges that their purpose was diplomatic and peaceful, Poinsett and Tratton stood back to watch Rafter take to the sky and wing northward with his fellow Sparra to report to the Abbey leaders on what they'd found. Resuming their march, the Searat King asked the Gawtrybe sergeant, "So, how d'ya think this bodes, Sarge?"

"I think we'll find out when we get there … Captain."

Not long after that the distant echoing boom and bong of the Abbey bells reached their ears; neither searat nor Gawtrybe having ever heard such before, they had no idea whether the sonorous signal conveyed warning or welcome. "Well, it seems we're expected," Poinsett drolly observed. "But are they throwing their gates wide, or locking them up tight?"

"I'd not frazzle yer bush over it," said Drewry. "If that were any kinda alarm tolling, you'd feel it in yer bones. Our bellringers're good, an' can make the Abbey's mood known with no mistake to anybeast with half an ear. That's a toll of greetin', sure as my spikes're pointy."

"So ye're sayin'," Tratton elaborated, "they're layin' out th' red carpet fer us, even after knowin' from their birds that we're searats an' enemy squirrels?"

"The Gawtrybe are _not_ enemies of Redwall," Poinsett protested, perhaps a bit too much.

"Dunno 'bout any red carpet," Drewry answered Tratton, ignoring Poinsett. "Ain't never seen one o' those at the Abbey laid out fer nobeast. But from th' sound of it, they sure ain't gearin' up fer battle ner siege, so guess we ain't alarmed 'em half as much as we shoulda. Then again, with all th' stout defenders we got there these days, there's more'n enuff blades an' bows t' dispatch any trouble this liddle troop o' yers could raise."

"Most … reassurin'," Tratton muttered, staying in character.

A short time later Redwall reared into view up ahead, its sanguine profile against the summer sky dwarfed by the soaring tower of Foxguard but nevertheless still splendid to behold, a dusky bastion set against the greens and blues of nature. The languid rhythm of the Matthias and Methuselah bells reached them more clearly now, a calming and almost joyous song without words beckoning the weary travellers and bidding them to seek safe shelter within. Bells had always played only a modest role in searat life and culture, but hearing these now, Tratton silently pledged that he would look into incorporating them more fully into his realm, especially if he could find or forge any to sound half as magnificent as these, and employ paws to pull their ropes so skillfully.

 _If I get back to Terramort alive_ , a sobering voice in the back of his head reminded him. There was still so much that could go wrong, and disastrously so, here at Redwall, and at Foxguard should he decide to journey on to the vulpine fortress, and on the return march to the coast.

And then the figures came into view as well, a seeming score or more, all gathered in the road outside the Abbey, all staring expectantly their way. With each step the crowd resolved itself more and more into distinct individuals, Tratton straining with one eye covered to take the measure of his greeters as fully as he could before the actual greetings. Badgers there were, and more than one, and this unnerved the clandestine Searat King more than the javelin-ready otters or the mice or the tough-looking shrews, whom he now saw numbered over a score just by themselves, or the squirrel archers and hare slingers arrayed along the walltop. Was there nowhere in the lands where he could escape those hulking, striped beasts?

Their procession halted a dozen paces from the Redwallers, pausing to let the full spectacle of their banners and uniforms and neat ranks and the red-garbed-and-dyed rat at their fore fully sink in with the simple, unmilitaristic Mossflower beasts. And there they stood, on display and waiting, leaving it to the Redwallers to make the first move.

"Well," the female mouse in a green habit observed, "I see Drewry and Blerim are back, just as Rafter reported. We'll see if that bodes ill or well for Grayfoot's situation."

The male mouse beside her, garbed in a far more drab robe of unremarkable brown, seemed considerably less assured and self-possessed than his female companion. "So, um, what do we do now?"

"Well, if you're not going to say hello to them, then I will." The green-robed mouse strode fearlessly forward, and unbidden at her side came with her a hare clearly of the Long Patrol - the first Tratton would ever encounter without either one trying to slay the other on sight - and one of the present badgers … oddly enough, not the formidable male but one of the females, only marginally less formidable herself in her simple smocklike dress which could have served as a tent for the shrews.

"Welcome to Redwall," the mouse greeted as her trio stopped before the new arrivals. "I'm Abbess Vanessa, and what have we here?"

"Sergeant Poinsett, of Lord Urthblood's forces at Salamandastron," the female Gawtrybe introduced herself for the second time that afternoon.

"Salamandastron, hm?" Vanessa cut in before Poinsett could go on. "Rather far from your home, aren't you?"

Rather than answer directly, Poinsett said, somewhat stiff in her formality, "I was given to understand that an Abbot now presides over Redwall. So am I to assume you're not the current highest authority here … Abbess?"

"Oh, that's been going rather back and forth a bit this past season. There's authority, and then there's authority. We currently happen to have an Abbess and _two_ Abbots … and I would urge you to afford the same deference and respect to all equally." Her gaze went from Poinsett to the rat in red. "And speaking of creatures being far from their homes, you look to be even farther from yours than she is."

Tratton regarded this peculiar mouse in green who exuded both a youthful carefree air and an ageless aura, making her maturity level hard to discern, along with a sense of deft command suggesting she was somehow above everybeast present. The Searat King knew nobeast would conduct itself such unless utterly confident in their ability to meet whatever the situation presented; it was, Tratton frankly admitted to himself, an attitude he seldom if ever encountered, since no rat in his realm would dare to show such a thing to their sovereign and risk drawing his suspicious scrutiny.

"Aye, just a bit far, Abbess," Tratton said, introducing himself before Poinsett could. "Cap'n Redclaw, representin' His Majersty's int'rests here in Mossflower." The rat concluded with a half-bow just graceful enough to be respectful without fully hiding the brutish nature of the beast behind it.

"That's odd," Vanessa returned airily. "I was not aware Tratton _had_ any interests in Mossflower. That's certainly news to me, as I'm sure it will be to our Abbots and all our capable defenders."

Tratton found himself only momentarily put off balance by the mouse's almost frivolous rebuke. "P'raps not th' most accurate choice o' words I coulda used, beggin' yer pardon. His Majesty felt t'would be best t' send me on a tour o' the inner lands, now that there's peace 'tween him an' Salam'dastron. Could be we _will_ have int'rests in Mossflower, dependin' on how things shake out … an' mebbe ye'll have int'rests out at sea, in our domain. One never knows what th' future holds, eh?"

"Urthblood might beg to differ on that point. So, you came to talk? I assume that means you'll be asking for admittance to Redwall?" Vanessa ran her gaze over the entire searat contingent, banner-bearers and armed guards and the swordsrat at Redclaw's side who sought to hide that he was so much more than an mere underling. "All of you?"

"Where I go, Abbess, my guards go too."

"Then it may well be that none of you rats will be setting foot past our gates - and while the ultimate decision will be made by our current presiding Abbot, don't underestimate the amount of influence I can exercise in this matter."

The searat calling himself Redclaw tried a new tack. "My understandin' is, y' already got a whole lotta rats stayin' in yer home. So what's a few more?"

"This is true. Your sources of information are to be commended. Did those sources also happen to explain why those rats have been forced to seek sanctuary within our walls?" Vanessa's gaze went from Tratton to Poinsett and the Gawtrybe. "While the decision regarding the searat portion of your party remains open, no such ambiguity applies to your squirrels. No Gawtrybe will be allowed inside Redwall."

Poinsett bristled at this statement of open hostility; if she'd hoped to hide the strained tensions between Redwall and Urthblood from Tratton - at least any more than he'd already gathered - the Abbess clearly didn't care what the searats did or didn't know. "Isn't that the Abbot's place, to say who is admitted into Redwall?"

"I don't need to consult with either of our Abbots to know how they will decide in this, as far as you Gawtrybe are concerned."

Vanessa's tone of belittling, frosty command left Poinsett feeling robbed of her voice.

The significance of this exchange did not escape Tratton, who now knew he faced an authority within Redwall second to none. For all that this Abbess spoke of deferring to her Abbots, she wielded power of voice beyond that of any captain or commander in the Empire. Perhaps Uroza or Regelline could deploy their tongues and manner on this level, but in his bones Tratton felt he'd found his equal in this mouse - and that for all her off-the-paw dismissiveness, she was not to be trifled with.

Which made her precisely the creature Tratton wished to treat with here.

"Can't speak fer my squirrel companions 'ere, Abbess, or any disagreements y' may've had with 'em, but we ain't never had any 'tween th' two of us, Terramort an' Redwall that is, so I'm hopin' you an' yer Abbots may see clear t' lettin' us rats inside, irregardless o' what you decide on th' Gawtrybe."

"First off, there's no such word as 'irregardless'; correcting rats' atrocious grammar seems to have become a primary occupation of mine this past season. Secondly, if we're to even consider letting any of you into Redwall, it will be without a single blade, spear, shaft or bow."

Tratton feigned sad umbrage. "Abbess, we weren't even made t' surrender our arms at Salam'dastron … "

"It's pronounced 'Salamandastron' - don't be lazy. And this is not Salamandastron, or the coastlands, as you may have noticed. If you don't care for how we do things here, you're welcome to toddle back to that hunk of rock and play one-pawed pattycake with your badger buddy."

Both Tratton and Poinsett stood mutely regarding the acid-tongued mouse, clearly aware that she'd spared no effort in seeing to it that each had received their fair share of belittlement. But whereas the Gawtrybe sergeant felt only umbrage at being so indelicately put in her place, the searat's grudging respect only grew. Of course, this green-robed Abbess had no idea who she was truly dealing with, so her insolence was more understandable - up to a point.

It never occurred to him that Vanessa knew exactly who she was dealing with, and her present behavior was her way of letting Tratton know how preposterous she found his masquerade.

"Naw, Abbess marm. Come all th' way here t' see yer lovely home fer m'self, an' I ain't in no hurry t' hurry back th' way I came. I'll be stayin' fer a spell - inside or out, that's up t' you. But, if relinquishin' our arms is th' price ye're askin' fer me an' me rats bein' let in, then I'll go by yer say so. It's yer Abbey, after all."

"Yes, it is - a fact I'd advise you to keep in mind during your time with us."

The swordsrat at the fake captain's side leaned in toward the red figure. "Sir … Cap'n … I'd implore you to rethink this … capitcherlation … "

"It's pronounced 'capitulation,'" Vanessa interjected, breaking into an exchange clearly not meant to include her.

The red rat waved off his underling's concern. "Aw, I'm sure we'll be safe, Talarek. The Abbess'll make sure o' that, won'tcher, marm?" His one-eyed gaze went to the badger and hare backing up the mouse. "You, an' all yer muscle here, am I right?"

"Oh, yes, how remiss of me. Introductions in order and overdue, aren't they?" Vanessa gestured to the imposing badger, whose coldly assessing gaze had not left Tratton for a moment. "This is our Badgermum Maura, who oversees all our youngsters with a loving if firm and disciplined paw. She's gentle as a mousebabe - unless you threaten our Abbey, in which case she's liable to rip your head off with her bare paws. And next to her is one of our two ranking hares, Colonel Clewiston of the Long Patrol. You're acquainted with the Long Patrol, I take it? They simply love searats, you know. Absolute adoration. In fact, I'd hazard a guess that the good Colonel here is doing all he can to keep from leaping at you with unbridled joy and greeting you with his sword."

Tratton turned an appraising eye toward the hare. "He'd lose."

"Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. He's very good."

"Ah. Question is, would his blade be at my side as a protective host, or at my back as an assassin, if I t'were to enter inta yer Abbey?"

"I'll order him not to murder you in your sleep. He's also very good about following orders from his Abbots and Abbesses - most of the time. Although he has had his lapses. You'll see to it that you'll have no such lapses while these good rats are visiting us, won't you, Colonel?"

"As you say, Abbess marm," Clewiston responded while favoring Tratton with a look that could kill.

"And there we have it," Vanessa said cheerily. "And now that you know where things stand, Captain Redclaw, are you still so sure you'd like to visit our fair home?"

The searat forced a grin, although in truth it was only half-forced; something about this mouse fascinated him, in a way he'd not expected to encounter at Redwall, or anywhere in Mossflower. He suspected she could hold her own against any captain of Urthblood's, and would allow nobeast in all the lands or on all the seas to intimidate her. Such worthy sparring partners were a rare find for a creature of his intellect and bearing, and if she lay at the heart of Redwall's power as she almost surely must, he felt it imperative to take her measure more fully, over the course of days if he might. He realized at that moment that this was precisely the thing he'd set out on this walking tour to find, even if he hadn't known it at the time.

"I've heard Redwall's got real nice beds, Abbess marm - an' real good food too. I'd not wanna move on 'til I'd had opportunity t' sample both - an' fer you t' correct my speech a few dozen times more. You guarantee our safety inside yer walls, an' we'll yield our weapons."

"Wonderful. Now let's go speak with our Abbot and find out whether you'll even have the opportunity to make this show of good faith. I expect he and his fellow mice might have a few things to say themselves in regard to this situation."

"What about us?" Poinsett objected, seeking to inject her squad's relevance into the discussion once more.

"What about you?" the Abbess snapped, crushing that relevance in the bud. "You're to stay out here, whatever else is decided. No Gawtrybe will be entering Redwall this season, unless they do so as intruders - in which case, woe to them."

"That's the Abbot's decision to make."

"His will be the same as mine."

"I am sworn to protect and safeguard Captain Redclaw and his rats wherever in the lands they go - including inside Redwall. If they are allowed in, we must be allowed in with them."

"Then you swore to something you had no place swearing to. No creature outside Redwall says who is allowed inside our home - and especially not you. Whatever Captain Redclaw decides to do for himself, you will stay right where you are."

Being the direct target of Vanessa's withering edict, Poinsett stood too fully immobilized to appreciate what had just been done to her. But Tratton noticed, and his wary regard for this Abbess grew. She didn't merely use carefully-chosen words to put her verbal adversaries in their places; there was something else going on here, some exercise of force of will subtle enough to escape the notice of anybeast untrained in the ways of cognizant observation to the degree Tratton was. But he dared not reveal what he'd detected, and doubly so; not only would it compromise his masquerade as a brutish, unrefined ruffian, but even had he not been in disguise, he would never tip his paw to a creature who might very well hold his life in her paw.

At that point Maura, perhaps breaking into the dynamic of intimidation Vanessa had sought to establish between herself and Poinsett, said to the Gawtrybe squirrel, "I see you've brought along two of our own, although why you saw fit to remove Drewry and Blerim from Grayfoot's Tavern I can't imagine. We'd hoped you might be bearing another of our family with you in your company, one who's been away from us far too long. What news can you tell us of Alexander? And why does he not return to Redwall? What delays him?"

Poinsett recovered somewhat from the almost trance-like stupor Vanessa had imposed on her, stirring her mind to address the badger's interrogation. "That is rather up to him to say, isn't it?"

"Is he well? Is he safe?"

"He was perfectly fine the last that any of us saw him."

"Is he being held prisoner?"

"No. He was free to come and go as he pleased. In fact, I daresay your squirrel friend was being allowed more freedom by Lord Urthblood than many of us felt he deserved. But, it was His Lordship's decision, so we had to abide by it."

None of this satisfied Maura. "But, if he's free to come and go, why would he choose not to come back to us? Why does he remain at Salamandastron?"

"Bet it's to make himself a jolly thorn in that big red bully's side, wot?" Clewiston guessed. "If so, I say bally good show for him, and here's hoping he gives His Bloodiness a season's worth of grief before heading back home to let us know firstpaw what that tyrant's up to now."

Poinsett stood ill at ease over this further demonstration of ill will between Redwall and her own Lord; Alexander had left Salamandastron well before Tratton's unexpected arrival, and nobeast at the mountain had let slip any hint of this strife between woodlanders, and yet the Searat King had still seemed to possess some inkling - or perhaps more than an inkling - of these troubles in the inner lands. Poinsett knew - as had Matowick - that Tratton would surely have such suspicions confirmed once he reached Redwall and could speak with the Abbeybeasts directly, but that didn't mean she relished this moment any more for having accepted its inevitability.

But this momentary preoccupation and ruminating along these lines by the Gawtrybe sergeant gave the penetrating Abbess an opening Poinsett could neither have anticipated or welcomed.

Vanessa stared the squirrel in the eye. "Alexander isn't at Salamandastron, is he?"

Poinsett was rocked back on her heels at this spot-on deduction. "What … would make you say such a thing, Abbess?"

The mental door now open, Vanessa pushed further in as Tratton looked on with rapt fascination. "Urthblood has left Salamandastron … and Alexander has gone with him."

"That's … I … "

Rather than waiting to see whether Poinsett would confirm, deny or sidestep, Vanessa turned to Tratton. "Perhaps you could shed some light on this … Captain?"

The rat gave just enough of a grin to convey that he understood the powers at play here, and was happy to choose a side. "It's true Lord Urthblood t'weren't at SalamanDAStron when I was there, marm. All indications were he'd sailed off t' Southsward to see t' somethin' there, tho' none of these bushtails would confirm that. As fer any Redwaller bein' there, no mention were ever made of such a thing, an' I sure never did meet anybeast claimin' t' be such, so either he was bein' kept far away from me durin' our negotiashuns, or else he truly weren't at th' mountain when I was."

"Thank you, Captain. So nice to get a straight answer from _somebeast_ around here, because we certainly don't seem to get any from Urthblood and his creatures. Come along now, and let us see what decision will be rendered concerning you and your rats."

Standing her ground as she'd been "requested," Poinsett could only watch as Vanessa led the searats away to consult with the other Abbey leaders. Leaving that issue behind them, Tratton was freed to pay more attention to what lay ahead - including the construction project just across the ditch to his left. "An' what is this, Abbess?"

"What this is is none of your affair, Captain. Perhaps you'll find somebeast around here who will tell you more than that, but I tend to doubt it. Many more of our current residents, I suspect, would rather physically assail you than converse with you, and that group is hardly confined to the Colonel's Long Patrol. Here are some of them, in fact, standing right here with our esteemed Abbot. Captain Redclaw, please allow me to present to you Geoff, presiding Abbot of Redwall. Geoff, this is Captain Redclaw - as if that wasn't obvious enough - of His Majesty King Tratton's Royal Navy."

Before Geoff could speak, the strapping male mouse alongside the brown-robed Abbot said, "What are you doing here? Your kind don't belong in Mossflower."

Unphased by this undisguised hostility, Tratton regarded the mouse. "An' you would be?"

The mouse thrust forward both paws, holding them up to reveal the manacle scars on his wrists. "Just a former slave of yours, like many now dwelling at Redwall. We thought to never see your ilk again, and I don't care what agreements you've worked out with Urthblood, but you are not welcome here, and never will be."

"Well, that went better than I'd expected," Vanessa quipped. "At least no brick-throwing was involved."

"Yer feelin's are duly noted," Tratton said to the as-yet-unidentified mouse, who clearly seemed to hold some degree of authority or influence here, to judge by how thoughtlessly he'd jumped in ahead of the Abbot. "Fer what it's worth, t'weren't never keen on takin' or keepin' slaves m'self. Never kept any on my own ship, an' t'was happy t' see 'em all freed under the Accord."

"And just what ship would that be?"

Tratton's eye narrowed at this tone of challenge, as if the former slave meant to catch him in some kind of lie, but he relaxed again almost instantly upon realizing it didn't really matter. Most slaves would not have been familiar with more than one or two ships of the Fleet, and even if by some fluke this mouse had served aboard the _Darktide_ , or knew about her some other way, that meant nothing now. These slaves had been released seasons ago, with no way of knowing what changes might have occurred in their absence. Either way, an honest answer here would be a safe one.

"Th' _Darktide_. You heard o' her?"

"No, I haven't. What class of ship is it?"

"A galleon."

The mouse narrowed his gaze in suspicion. "Galleons carried slave rowing galleys."

"Not since I took 'er over as cap'n."

"Not even woodland rat slaves?"

"Not even 'em. Like I said, never keen on slaves m'self. Can't trust 'em, no matter th' species - allers plottin' an' schemin' t' rebel. More trouble'n they're worth."

"Well, can you blame them?" Vanessa put in casually. "Prisoners of war have an obligation to cause as much inconvenience to their captors as they can."

Tratton shot a sideways glance at the Abbess. "Slaves ain't pris'ners o' war."

"They might beg to differ, Captain."

"Well, won't be an issue much longer, either way. Got it on good authority 'is Majesty plans on eliminatin' slavery from 'is realm entirely 'fore too much longer."

"Eliminate slavery altogether?" Geoff asked, speaking for the first time. "You mean he'll not enslave any of the land rats he's being sent after all, and allow them to live as free beasts in his Empire?"

"Ain't … sure o' th' details m'self, Abbot. You'd hafta ask His Highness 'bout that."

"Perhaps we'll do just that," Vanessa said knowingly. "So, moving on with the introductions, this rather vociferous example of mousehood is Lekkas, and this charming mousemaid beside him is Clovis, also a former slave herself. The two of them are planning to be married, although they're playing awfully coy about it. No doubt they'll raise many happy and healthy mouselings who'll despise searats just as much as they do."

This drew a frown from both Redclaw and the swordsrat at his side. "Aw, but ain'tcher heard, Abbess? Things're changin'. Searats 'n' woodlanders ain't enemies no more; the Accord saw t' all that."

"We've heard quite enough about that Accord this season, thank you very much. And we'll decide for ourselves who our friends and enemies are; Urthblood certainly doesn't speak for us on that score. Now, I imagine our good Abbot is just bursting with questions for you, so allow me to yield to him. Geoff?"

"Oh, yes, um … just what _are_ you doing in Mossflower, Captain? This is most … unusual, although lately I'm beginning to wonder whether that word means anything anymore."

"Just a liddle walkabout, seein' the lands under a flag o' truce … "

Vanessa couldn't resist interjecting one more time. "Truce? I wasn't aware we were at war."

"Then call it a flag o' peace, if y' please, or diplomacy. Point is, we ain't here t' cause nobeast any trouble. Mebbe even save some, dependin' on how things go. His Majesty wanted one o' his highest-rankin' cap'ns t' reach out to the good folk o' these lands an' let 'em know we mean 'em no harm."

"Wanted to spy on us and gather intelligence, is more like it," Lekkas accused. "And if you really are one of Tratton's chief captains, why're you just commanding a lowly galleon like the _Darksky_? Seems to me somerat so important would rate at least a frigate, if not a dreadnaught."

Tratton grinned. First off, it's the _DarkTIDE_ \- _Darksky_ 's a completely diff'rent ship alt'gether. An' we chose that 'un 'cos pullin' inta Salamandastron in anything bigger mighta caused more alarm than was good fer anybeast. Didn't wanna ruffle that badger's fur when we tied up to his pier t' ask his permission fer this liddle excursion. So if ye're tryin' t' catch me in a lie, ye'll hafta do better'n that. Tho' I admit, y' do know yer stuff 'bout our ships. Which one did _you_ serve on?"

"Serve? That's a nice way of putting it. I wasn't on a ship; I was in a lumber mill up north. Maybe you heard when it got burned to the ground, with every searat in the camp slain and every slave freed. Now _that_ was a fine day!"

Tratton grimaced in spite of himself; fortunately it was a grimace any senior searat commander might have let slip at the mention of that defeat. The annihilation of the timber enclave, and the resulting prolonged battle which had led to the loss of two dreadnaughts, would stand as a sore point for all searatkind for many seasons to come, even if that catastrophe was later eclipsed by the disaster at Salamandastron which would claim another four of Tratton's master ships. The Searat King knew that he could show ire over this incident without jeopardizing his masquerade, since such a reaction would hardly be unique to the sea tyrant himself.

"Now now," Geoff waded in, "no need to be unnecessarily provocative here. No creature who comes to us in good will and with no ill intent is to be spurned out of paw. That being said … " He addressed Tratton directly. "I gather you'd hoped to spend some time inside Redwall itself? I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm not sure that's something I can allow."

"Abbess said we'd be let in if we agreed t' give over our arms."

"I said no such thing," Vanessa instantly corrected. "I said only that you would _not_ be allowed inside Redwall with your weapons. Whether you would still be allowed in even without them ultimately rests with Geoff. However … " She turned to the male mouse. "All things considered, were it up to me, I would vote to admit them."

Geoff regarded her with half-mortification. "But, they're _searats_ ," he protested, lowering his voice.

"Yes, that is quite apparent, and I'm sure they just heard you, since they're standing right here. But they have as yet given us no good reason to turn them away."

"But," Geoff pressed on, "it's _Nameday_."

"Technically, not until tomorrow. Quite a few days into the season, but better late than never, hm? Although I do wonder whether the Captain's unbidden arrival might affect the name you had chosen for this summer. But Nameday's always been about sharing our plenty and hospitality with all, and having a few added guests should only add to the festivity, shouldn't it?"

"With all due respect, Abbess," Lekkas said in a tone suggesting little of respect, "these are _not_ times of plenty at Redwall, and our hospitality does not apply to all equally, or at least it shouldn't. You've already made it clear the Gawtrybe won't be admitted, and with very good reason. These searats have done far worse to us than the Gawtrybe ever did to Redwall, and that alone should warrant their exclusion - especially on a feast day, of all days!"

"And remind me again where you and your fellow slaves had planned to celebrate tomorrow's festivities? Shut away in Great Hall, even though warm-season Namedays are traditionally observed outdoors to take advantage of the fair weather, and all so that you can avoid rubbing shoulders or even setting eyes upon our rat refugees, who have sought the shelter of our Abbey at their hour of greatest need? Such intransigence on your part has forced us to orchestrate a divided Nameday already, so as I see it, you've no cause for complaint if a few additional rats join those who'll be feasting outdoors, away from you."

Clovis glanced the searats' way. "And how will Harth's rats feel about sharing their celebration with the very creatures who would put them into bondage, or worse?"

"Mebbe not as bad as y' think," Tratton answered the female mouse, "since like I said, 'is Majesty's plannin' to abolish slavery alt'gether on all his ships an' isles, so they've naught t' fear from any chains or lashes of ours, even if they weren't already safe inside Redwall."

"That is heartening to hear indeed," Geoff told Tratton. "When we first heard of a large mixed party of Gawtrybe and searats marching this way, we did wonder whether you had in mind taking some sort of action against us on account of the refugees we're harboring. It's a great relief to learn that this appears not to be the case. Because we would not have surrendered them, not even under threat of arms. But I must ask, since you present yourself as King Tratton's representative and seem to know his mind so well, what effect will our continued sheltering of our woodland rat guests have in terms of the overall peace of the lands, and of your Accord with Urthblood?"

Tratton gave a dismissive reply requiring little in the way of an act, since it wasn't too far from the truth. "Our treaty was signed with Urthblood, an' that's all 'tween him an' us. Wasn't our idea t' ask fer all yer rats, an' we coulda done just as well without 'em. Not any condition ner provision that ever woulda occurred t' us; t'was Urthblood's proposal, not ours, an' he was most insistent we accept."

Vanessa gave Geoff a meaningful look. "Well, isn't _that_ interesting."

"So, you're saying," Geoff sought to clarify, "that us giving sanctuary to our rat refugees won't be an issue for you, and won't jeopardize either the Accord or the wider peace between searats and woodlanders?"

"Not in th' slightest. What goes on 'tween you folks so far inland's yer affair, not ours."

"You'll pardon us for our confusion on the matter," Vanessa said to the disguised rat tyrant, "but Urthblood's Gawtrybe have gone out of their way this past season to impress upon us how our actions endangered the Accord and imperiled peace, and how we must not oppose their Purge in any way whatsoever and conform to their every edict lest we bring disaster down upon us all. How enlightening to know that propaganda was all false and baseless, and no true crisis existed at all, aside from the one Urthblood sought to create. Perhaps your visit to Mossflower was long overdue, Captain. It could have spared us so much strife and uncertainty."

Lekkas said to Tratton, "Does this mean you'll no longer be demanding the rats of the lands as compensation for the woodlanders you freed? That this Purge can end, and the rats currently sheltering within Redwall will be free to leave and go where they please, without fear of harassment or arrest or deportation from Mossflower?" The hope in the mouse's voice was palpable, but Tratton quickly quashed that budding optimism.

"Not my place t' say. As I toldja, t'was all Urthblood's idea, not ours. An' what he an' his forces do in this region ain't anything we got much influence over."

"But maybe you do," Geoff interjected. "If you tell Tratton to impress upon Urthblood that you don't _want_ the rats of the lands, maybe you can influence that badger to change his policies in this regard, and any further strife between Redwall and Salamandastron can be avoided."

Tratton had all he could do to keep from blurting out that maybe strife between those two powers was exactly what he wanted: while he indulged in a little honesty here, he didn't wish to be _too_ honest. "Case y' ain't've noticed, that badger does what 'ee wants, an' what suits 'im 'cordin' to whatever secret aims 'n' purposes he's got. An' if he's got it in 'is mind t' round up all yer rats an' send 'em our way, whether we asked fer 'em or no, then that's what he's gonna do. You want him t' stop, ye'll hafta convince him t' do so yerselves - an' I wish you luck with that."

An otter dressed in a green habit robe similar to that of the Abbess stepped forward. "But you can stop it, if you want. If you don't want the rats Urthblood is sending you, don't accept them. Just don't take them. Don't send any of your ships to Salamandastron or whatever other pickup points Urthblood has arranged. Don't take any resettled rats aboard your vessels. Leave them all with Urthblood, and let him decide what to do with them. Wash your paws of it completely, and refuse to have anything more to do with it."

Again, Tratton bit his tongue to keep from revealing that, now that he'd found a use for all the woodland rats Urthblood was sending to him, he wasn't about to turn them away. "Sumpthin' t' consider, I s'pose. P'raps durin' my time here, you can convince me to convince His Majesty to do just that."

"I'm sure that if we can convince you, Captain, Tratton will be convinced as well," Vanessa said with a cryptically knowing smile that made the searat ruler look her way twice. _Could she possibly … ?_

The green-robed otter pressed on, "And you just said yourself that King Tratton intends to do away with slavery in his Empire. What sense does it make to keep on taking these rats who've been torn away from their lifelong homes if Tratton will only be setting them all free eventually anyway?"

 _I never said anything about setting them free_ , Tratton thought to himself as he shifted his attention from one Abbeybeast in green to another. "Aw, but mebbe by th' time we free 'em all, they'll've decided they like livin' as searats, an' wanna stay with us. An' sorry, but just who're you agin?"

"This is Brother Winokur, our Abbey Recorder and historian," Vanessa answered, "and I'm sure he would join me in saying that that's an awful lot of turmoil, tumult, terror and tribulation to subject these displaced woodland rats to, just to see if they might care for a change of scenery to something with an ocean view. Much better, I would say, to suspend the campaign now and save everybeast involved that much more trouble, trauma and effort."

"We'll … hafta discuss it then, won't we?"

"Yes, we will. Which still leaves the question of just where that discussing is to take place. Geoff, this decision must be yours. I have already stated my preference, but you're presiding Abbot, so this must fall to you."

The Abbot mouse stood considering for some time, studying Tratton but meeting none of the other expectant gazes of those around him. At length he said, "Captain, even if you truly have come to us in open good will and bearing us no malice, I can see too much going wrong if you were to be admitted into our home. We have former slaves among us, as you have seen and heard, who hold no love for searats in their hearts, and also the rat refugees who live in fear of being forced out of Redwall and delivered into your custody against their will. Then again, if you can offer them some hope that slavery will soon be abolished in the searat realm and that they at least need not concern themselves over that, this might go some way toward easing tensions over your visit. I suppose I must ask outright, and there is no delicate way to put this, but … how would King Tratton react if some misfortune were to befall you during your stay at Redwall?"

"Well, now, I don't reckon he'd be greatly pleased," Tratton returned with a secret smile of his own, which did little to reassure most of the woodlanders before him. "But I wager he understood th' risks of this undertaking when he set it in motion, an' took into account that I might not make it back to th' coast in one piece. But I guess it's a risk he was willin' t' take, so I don't picture he'd take any kinda retaliation 'gainst you if anything unfortunate were to happen to me."

"And you speak with authority on this?" Vanessa asked in an almost teasing tone.

"Yeah, Abbess, you c'd say I do. Since 'is Majesty planned an' oversaw this expedition pers'nally."

"Well, that will go a long way toward my decision," Geoff said. "But still, to have such a potentially disruptive influence here on our main seasonal feast day … "

"Which isn't until tomorrow," Vanessa reminded the Abbot. "A happy compromise might be to allow them inside for tonight, then decide in the morning whether they can remain for Nameday or should best tarry outside for the duration of the celebration. Not the most hospitable of solutions, but I'm sure the good captain will understand."

This proposal hardly sat well with Lekkas. "Abbess … Abbot … you can't be serious. These are _searats_!"

"Aye," Tratton affirmed, casting a jaundiced eye the protesting mouse's way. "That we are."

"If they were marauders, or even potential adversaries come to lay down the law to us as the Gawtrybe have so often this past season, then there would be nothing to consider," Vanessa said to Lekkas. "But Captain Redclaw comes to us under a banner of peace, and it sounds to me as if he brings with him points of discussion which definitely bear a hearing. For this reason if no other, I feel he deserves an audience. Whether we'll care for everything he has to say is another matter. But I for one intend to spend some time in conversation with our most novel guests."

"Then converse with them out here, not inside our Abbey!"

" _Your_ Abbey?" Vanessa arched an eyebrow Lekkas's way.

"I feel Vanessa is right," Geoff grudgingly conceded. "It sounds to me as if this captain does bear with him matters most worthy of presenting to a full gathering of Abbey leaders and elders. Between his hints of slavery being abolished in Tratton's kingdom and his assertion that our continued harboring of the rat refugees will neither endanger the Accord nor draw Tratton's wrath our way, I'd say he brings tidings we cannot dismiss."

The big male badger stepped forward. "Are they _all_ to be let in then, Abbot Geoff?"

Tratton eyed this latest representative of his least favorite species to make its voice heard. "Jus' how many badgers has yer Abbey got?"

"This is Lord Sodexo of the Southern Glades, and his wife Lady Hekko," Geoff said by way of introduction. "They came to us last season for a routine visit, and ended up staying when things turned, ah, less than routine, shall we say? They are great friends of Redwall, and are to be accorded the same respect as any permanent resident of our home. In fact, in these tumultuous times, he has earned a place at our councils, and will no doubt wish to sit in on any discussion we have with you, since your tidings might well impact other parts of Mossflower besides our own here."

"Mmhmm." Tratton started running a mental tally of just how many badgers he would be contending with during his stay here.

"So, if the Captain is to be allowed in, we may as well see to that right now. No time like the present, is there?" Vanessa turned to the sword-wielding otter and the fierce-looking head shrew. "Monty, Log-a-Log, I'm sure Lord Sodexo will be happy to help you and the Colonel see to relieving our latest guests of their arms as they pass through our gates. Happy disarming!"

As all the various creatures present deployed themselves to see to this task, Vanessa maneuvered herself to end up alongside Drewry, with Maura and Winokur flanking them so that she could speak privately with the hedgehog in a low voice. "Surprised and not entirely heartened to see you and Blerim back here, and in the company of the Gawtrybe, no less. How fares our ferret friend?"

"Those redfurs've been tracking rats through lower Mossflower, marm, an' figgered out they was makin' fer Grayfoot's. Followed one right up to 'is doorstep. Reckon th' jig's up, far as that place is concerned."

"Are Grayfoot and his family in any danger?"

"Hard t' say, marm. I stepped for'ard m'self to take as much of th' heat as I could, jus' like we planned it, but I don't reckon they had any hard evidence 'gainst 'im that they could prove anything by. But they'll be keepin' way too close an eye on that place fer any more rats t' get through. Looks like that way's been cut off."

"So, no more refugees from that direction. Looks like we might have to have the Colonel redeploy some of his hares from the Plains. No need to keep guides in place for rats who won't be showing up."


	54. Chapter LIII

**LIII.**

 **TALAGA**

Prince Rupart came into the world squalling, pink and healthy.

Regelline lay back on her pillows panting heavily, sweaty and spent. Childbirth was supposed to be a natural thing, common to all species to perpetuate themselves and essential for the continuation of bloodlines both royal and wretched … so why had nature contrived to make it so draining, so messy and, most of all, painful?

"Why is he crying like that?" Regelline asked as Demetria, back turned to her Queen, busied herself with cleansing and tending the new prince while two of her helpers similarly attended their maternal sovereign. "Is anything … wrong?"

"Not in the least, Your Majesty," the midwife assured her. "Most healthy babes greet the world thus. Drinking in his first taste of air, he is."

"I will trust you to that, then," Regelline grunted as the two female attendants finished their own cleanup duties and pulled the soft blanket halfway up the chest of the exhausted new mother. In accordance with birth custom and Demetria's suggestion, Regelline had delivered unclothed, not that this bothered the Searat Queen in the slightest, since all the routine checkups and progress examinations leading up to this day had been performed with the royal patient in a similarly ungarbed state. The midwife staff of Talaga were thorough professionals and the best at what they did, and it was nothing they'd not seen before, from the wives of captains and commanders; indeed, Regelline had by now grown quite nonchalant about disrobing in the discreet presence of Demetria and her assistants.

"Would you like to hold him, Majesty?"

"Maybe once he settles down and stops that wailing," Regelline responded, about ready to flatten her ears against the newborn's gasping, gulping screams.

"Perhaps your mother's embrace will prove the very balm to soothe and settle him." Demetria turned and strode across the master bedchamber of the former Governor's mansion, presenting the bathed and swaddled infant to Regelline, who took him in uncertain paws. Again, Demetria's expertise in this area was proven as tiny Rupart's squalling protests at the wide new world around him subsided into a mellow litany of sucks and clucks.

"He's … so pink and … shrivelly," the Queen murmured, gazing down at her progeny cradled in her arms. "Are you sure he's all right?"

"He's as hale and healthy as any I've ever brought into this world, Majesty," Demetria assured her. "I may not know the ways of power within empires, but I do know midwifery, and your new babe is a fine and strong one!"

"Hmm." _Couldn't prove it by me_ , came the acerbic thought to Regelline's mind. She wasn't sure why she'd expected anything different; she possessed the worldly experience, and knew enough about the ways of procreation and childbirth, to realize that this was how rats came into the world. But somehow she'd resisted this obvious insight, thought that her status as Queen might insulate her somehow from the hard facts of nature, and that her son (or daughter) might be born not all pink and furless like ordinary rats but fully-pelted and ready to step forward in searat society, if only figuratively. The idea that there must now come a period of nursing and careful incubation and tender care while her successor developed into something resembling an actual rat went against Regelline's psyche. How was she to take the time and expend the energy looking after something like _this_ when she had an Empire to help run, and perhaps someday soon claim as her own?

"There, you see?" Demetria encouraged. "I knew your touch would calm him, Majesty. It's the mother-child bond. I've seen it before, countless times. It's all quite normal."

Regelline shot the midwife a sharp glance. "I am no ordinary rat, in case I need remind you."

Realizing her mistake, Demetria stammered, "Y-yes, of course, I … I only meant … "

"Oh hush. You'll set him fussing again."

Demetria remained at her Queen's side, silent now, as her two other attendants withdrew from the bedchamber to await at a slightly greater remove, their own duties finished for the moment. The most esteemed midwife on Talaga kept her clinic on the northeast part of the isle, under the shadow of Fort Ballaster, and many of her patients sought out her services there, but ever since Regelline had engaged her for this royal pregnancy and delivery, Demetria had practically lived at the Governor's mansion that the Queen had taken over for her own. While this represented both a high honor and no great hardship, for the guest bedroom reserved for Demetria on her frequent overnight stays was more luxurious than her usual chambers, it was also an immense responsibility, safeguarding the care and health of the Queen and her expected heir. And, truth be told, the female sovereign was not always the easiest or least demanding beast to get along with …

Regelline looked up from the softly-squirming bundle of life to gaze out the wide double windows. The mansion sat atop the hills overlooking Talaga Bay and its encircling seaside village, and so from her spot in her bed she could see only blue, cloudless sky through the glazed panes. Her length of labor had robbed her of all sense of time, but since no more beams of direct sunlight slanted through into the bedchamber, she guessed morning must have moved on to afternoon, the temperate day still bright outside but only more diffuse, ambient daylight reaching her now.

The Queen knew ratwives had all kinds of superstitions about childbirth, just as most searats did about most things, and idly wondered now what silly beliefs might surround the time of day of delivery, and the latitude and longitude of the birth site, and the state of the weather at the moment of the event. All such frivolous silliness was to be dismissed by those who made their own fate; Regelline had chosen her home isle of Talaga for this moment, for symbolic and personal reasons, and she was exactly where she wanted to be. As for the weather, she supposed it could not have boded better for any omens anyrat cared to assign to the new Prince's destiny … although, now that she thought about it, his arrival in the midst of a mighty tempest might well have marked him as a wild and dangerous and unpredictable figure to command the loyalty of his subjects at all costs, and woe to any who dared cross him.

Oh well. One couldn't have everything.

Regelline returned her gaze to little Rupart, furless eyelids screwed shut in lingering, futile resistance against his new world outside the womb. The tiny being still repulsed her in all its naked, helpless vulnerability, but she knew that soon, once the eyes had opened and the fur had grown in, she would properly bond with her offspring and undertake the seasons-long upbringing which would marry his future ambitions with her own, forging him into both her greatest supporter and a strong, ruthless Searat King of his own someday.

 _Watch out, my husband. You will not be needed very much longer._

"As soon as I'm feeling recovered," Regelline said to Demetria, "I'll want to go sit outside so I can take in some fresh ocean air with the Prince - his first breath of his future - as I look over my old home isle and its bay. While I'm outside doing that, change all this bedding … and maybe bring in a new mattress as well. A Queen needs her clean and restful sleep, you know."

 **TERRAMORT**

It seemed to Uroza that Clucus should have returned to Terramort by now.

No worry yet impinged upon the Spymaster's mind, for his was not a fretful constitution, nor did dark suspicions cloud his thoughts, even though such might fit both his nature and occupation. Sea trials were just that, and the unexpected often occurred during such test runs - indeed, the whole point to those exercises was to ensure that all the negative surprises were worked out of new vessels and new weaponry so that no further surprises lay in wait for when it really mattered, after the prototypes had been put into active service where they might encounter actual battle situations. A weapon misfiring or a craft faultily maneuvering during trials was one thing, but in the midst of military action such mishaps could spell disaster.

And, given the fairly preposterous character of the ferret weaponsmith's latest product, it concerned Uroza minimally that Clucus might be running somewhat overdue, for if any contraption of his was likely to present unanticipated complications, this was surely it. Besides, if the trial fleet ran into any particularly troublesome difficulties, Mortara knew to return to Terramort with all due speed to report to Uroza and summon help if needed. She may have been a female, but she was perfectly capable of at least that much.

The lateness of Clucus and his support ships occupied but one small corner of Uroza's mind these days; uppermost was King Tratton's ill-advised visit to Salamandastron and Mossflower. _Fleetrunner Six_ had returned some days ago bearing confirmation that His Majesty had emerged from the mountain fortress with his life, set sail on the _Darktide_ to another point along the coast slightly south of Salamandastron and below the lower limb of the mountain range, and disembarked from there to set out for the inner lands … which meant that Tratton's fate now lay largely in the paws of creatures who might very well wish him dead - both Urthblood's and many others. And there wasn't a thing Uroza could do about it, if treachery or disaster were to befall his sovereign at that far remove.

 _Fleetrunner Six_ had borne startling news as well: one reason Tratton was perhaps able to pass through Salamandastron unscathed was that its badger master had ventured elsewhere, absent from his own stronghold at the very moment his searat adversary had chosen to visit. And, while no woodlander at the mountain would confirm the badger's destination, all signs pointed to Southsward, where Urthblood stood to wreck havoc with Korba's diplomatic mission to Floret, if that mission had not already met with disaster on its own at the paws of the Southswarders - a quite plausible proposition, given lack of any news from the _Bloodreef_ or _Redsky_ on Korba's success or failure. At the very least, Urthblood stood to intrude upon negotiations precarious and uncertain, perhaps casting them into total disarray, and at worst he would forge an alliance with the Squirrel King where Korba had failed, shutting off an entire kingdom from searat influence. Unless Korba had by some miracle secured a treaty with Floret prior to Urthblood's arrival, the situation in Southsward only looked to be going from bad to worse.

It was these kinds of internecine affairs - along with maintaining internal security within the Empire itself - at which the Spymaster excelled and felt fully in his element, and thus did he find it all the more frustrating that such events unfolded far beyond his reach and influence, bound to play out as they would without any direct input or participation from him. In the end, all he could do was send _Fleetrunner Six_ off to return to the _Darktide_ , and wait to see whether Tratton ever returned from Mossflower.

And if he didn't … Before leaving for Talaga and thence on to Salamandastron, the sea tyrant had made Uroza swear and vow that, should anything befall Tratton while on the mainland, the Spymaster would pledge his obedience and fealty to Regelline and the as-yet unborn prince, placing himself entirely at her pleasure - even if that pleasure was to have Uroza slain and replaced with a new head spy more to her liking. For this reason along with many others, Uroza hoped Tratton met with success on his tour of the inner lands; the idea of having to deal with the more temperamental and scheming Queen while trying to hold together the Empire without its founder was not a prospect he relished.

And then there was the other half of Talaga to keep in mind, and the continuing efforts to satisfy and placate the savage cormorants even while bringing them firmly into the fold of the searat military, training them in ways of fighting to match Urthblood's gulls. Reports from the new governor Voccola suggested that their hoped-for winged allies devoted far more of their attention to slaying slaves in their high-drop games and squabbling among themselves than practicing their battle drills and learning how to deploy the necessary weaponry. His Majesty had placed great hopes in this alliance providing the long-sought balance to neutralize the threat of the badger's birds, and sacrificed an otherwise loyal and capable governor to win that alliance, but in the early analysis, the promise of this strategy looked hazy indeed.

All of these specific concerns lay atop Uroza's other daily routine responsibilities in overseeing the internal and external security of the Empire. And so, while he essentially had the run of Terramort to himself in Tratton's absence, he felt no great elevation in his power, no lifting of the weight of duty or increased freedom to do as he wished. If anything, the uncertainty of these various situations all unfolding at once only left him feeling weighed down even more than usual - not that he would ever let anybeast else know or see this. He did have his reputation to uphold, after all.

The approaching clack-stomp of booted paws from the corridor beyond his office reminded Uroza that he shared his present stewardship of Terramort with one other, and while their styles may have clashed, the Spymaster was grateful for one other unquestionably loyal commander to help shoulder the burden of running Terramort without its sovereign.

Malvarkis appeared in the doorway in the presence of two other rats - one expected, one not. "Captain Tillark of _Fleetrunner Two_ , Spymaster."

"Thank you, Malvarkis." Uroza used the Palace Guard Captain's name to avoid confusion, with the presence of two rats bearing that rank, if in very different capacities. Malvarkis gave a nod and clomped his way back down the hallway, leaving Tillark and his unnamed companion to wait on the pleasure of the Spymaster.

"Be seated, both of you."

The two visitors did as bidden, taking chairs before the Spymaster's desk. Tillark of course Uroza knew, having personally appointed every fleetrunner captain with paw-picked rats from his own Bureau. And he'd known to expect Tillark this morning, _Fleetrunner Two_ having been spotted some way out from the island during her approach. Tillark and his spycraft had been assigned to Viceroy Korba's mission, and Uroza was most interested to hear the news from Southsward, even if he could guess what that news likely was. At the very least, this meeting ought to confirm that Urthblood had in fact gone to Southsward himself, and might even provide details of the badger's movements and intent.

For the moment, however, Uroza fixed his attention on the other rat, Tillark's unannounced companion. Here was a creature clearly unaccustomed to the halls of power and privilege, a lowly crewrat by dress and by manner obviously overwhelmed by finding himself here. Uroza could only imagine how his office must strike such a beast as this; the Spymaster maintained a workspace crafted to reflect his sinister reputation, with lamplight shuttered and directed to create isolated islands of cold, efficient light floating against a veiling darkness which hid the tools of his trade - mostly maps and books and scrolls, but also vials and instruments no rat in the Empire ever wished to have used on them. Little wonder this deckpaw sat with wildly staring eyes and soundlessly working jaw, not sure whether his presence in this place represented an honor or a nightmare.

Uroza had left orders summoning Tillark here upon disembarking, the Spymaster eager to hear the fleetrunner captain's tidings from Korba's mission and Urthblood's insertion into those events. He had not expected his fellow spyrat to bring anybeast else to their debriefing, least of all somerat like this.

"And who is this, Captain?"

"Clantor," the junior Bureau rat replied with smooth urgency. "Assistant ship's steward of the _Skyburn_."

"And why is he here with us now?"

"Because he appears to be the sole survivor of the explosion and sinking of the _Skyburn_."

Uroza did not visibly tense or sit up straighter, nothing so obvious as that, but on some more subtle level his demeanor changed, his attention sharpened and even more focused than before. "Tell me."

Tillark looked to Clantor. "Tell the Spymaster what you told me. Every detail."

And so Clantor did - how the lookout had spotted the red, black and green sails of a fellow ship of the Fleet on the far horizon, and Captain Koncurat had given orders to rendezvous with the other vessel, in accordance with searat custom. How, some time later, the two ships lay at anchor, ready for the dreadnaught to receive the smaller ship's captain, as was also custom. How, as Clantor had been bustling through the forward belowdecks stores to scrounge up the special ingredients his captain had ordered for a lavish meal, a thunderous cataclysm ripped the _Skyburn_ in two, leaving the mighty vessel sundered and sinking. And how the lowly second steward had managed to claw his way out of the flooding hold long after most of his crewmates had already perished or abandoned the sinking wreck themselves, into the hungry maws of waiting sharks. Clantor had lucked into latching onto a chunk of shattered hull large enough to keep the sharks at bay, and from there he watched as the other ship, anchor already pulled up, turned about and fled the scene under full sail, her back turned cold and uncaring upon her distressed counterpart. No other rat that Clantor could see succeeded in securing any piece of wreckage as substantial as his, and soon he was alone, bobbing on the sea's surface along with assorted barrels and crates and planks and other debris which was all that remained of the once formidable _Skyburn_.

"What was the other ship?" Uroza asked the steward, the lowly rat shaken as much by this recounting of a living nightmare best forgotten as by his presence before another living nightmare in black fur.

"Dunno, Spymaster, sir. Most o' my duties kept me belowdecks, so I only caught a few glimpses of 'er here an' there while we were closin' distance 'tween us. T'was smaller'n us - a frigate, mebbe a galleon."

"Could she have been some foreign or trader vessel, disguised to look like a ship of the Fleet?"

"Clantor and I have already discussed that possibility on our way to Terramort," Tillark told Uroza. "I do not see it as very likely. Captain Koncurat would have been familiar enough with the other ships under our flag not to have been taken in by such a ruse. I think she has to have been one of ours."

"And yet her captain showed, at the very least, dire disregard for a fellow ship in desperate distress - assuming he did not cause the _Skyburn_ 's destruction in the first place." Uroza turned his full, dissecting gaze on Clantor. "Tell me, and think hard on this - did you not overhear any shipmate of yours speak the name of that vessel, even as something you may have caught in passing? Not even when you were briefly topside, during your approach to this other ship?"

"Nay, Spymaster, altho' … "

"Yes?"

"Well, when Chief Steward Dorta sent me down for'ard t' round up th' fancy grub from stores, he did mention a name … said Cap'n Koncurat was lookin' mighty for'ard to swappin' stories with Cap'n … Tangle? Triangle?"

"Trangle?"

Clantor's face lit up as the low-ranking rat momentarily forgot his oppressive surroundings. "Aye, that's it, Spymaster! Cap'n Trangle!"

"Trangle." Uroza looked to Tillark. "Of the _Redfoam_. It's the _Redfoam_ we're looking for."

"I'd say so, Spymaster."

Uroza returned his gaze to Clantor. "Did anyrat from the _Redfoam_ actually board the _Skyburn_?"

"Uh, dunno, sir. Couldn't rightly say. Last I heard, there was a rowboat makin' its way 'cross from their ship t' ours, an' talk was their cap'n was on it - heard talk 'bout some funny hat he allers wore. But explosion came not long after that. If 'ee'd had time t' board t'all, couldn'ta been on th' _Skyburn_ fer more'n a few moments 'fore th' powder blew. Treacherous stuff, that powder. Allers did make me nervous, bein' 'round it."

"Yes. Treacherous. Is there anything else you can tell us about this incident that might be helpful to us, Clantor?"

"Um, not sure what t' say to that, Spymaster sir, 'cos I ain't sure what you'd find helpful. I ain't a smart rat like you, an' Cap'n Tillark's already picked my brain on th' way here 'bout ev'rything he could. I'll gladly answer any questions y' have fer me, but I'm afraid I'd not know m'self what questions t' ask."

"I understand. Thank you for your time, Clantor. The guards outside will show you to appropriate quarters so that you can rest properly. I'll summon you again if I think of any further questions you might assist us with."

Waiting until the second steward was escorted well down the corridor, Uroza said to Tillark, "Is he truly the sole survivor of the _Skyburn_?"

"He maintained that he was, Spymaster, and we could find no others. It was only sheer luck that we found him at all, borne into our path by a fortuitous southern current that crossed our northbound course from Southsward. We did encounter a few other waveborne vestiges of wreckage and debris which spoke of a naval disaster, but for now it appears Clantor's testimony is the only detailed evidence we have that the _Skyburn_ has actually been lost."

"You think he may have been giving you some cover story, perhaps to hide the fact that he was expelled from the _Skyburn_ for some transgression and left to die at sea by Koncurat?"

"That idea did cross my mind, Spymaster, but I do not think so. The piece of hull we found him floating on bore hallmarks of an explosion - I towed it back with us for further detailed examination - and I also subjected Clantor to some unobtrusive, soft interrogation techniques. That one is not any kind of advanced deceptionist who could outwit us so. He is simply glad to be alive, certain he would perish at sea after witnessing and narrowly escaping a disaster which will haunt him for the rest of his days." Tillark paused a beat. "And on the subject of his remaining days, what is to be done with him now?"

"We may need to consult with him further. He'll be held in a secure chamber and allowed no contact with anyrat outside the Bureau. Speaking of which, what of your own crew?"

"Standard isolation protocols, Spymaster. I don't believe any of them overheard my closed-door debriefing of Clantor, but they could see for themselves how he was plucked from the sea, and they may have caught snatches of his jabbering. Certainly they saw and heard enough to form their own conclusions. We can't risk the loss of the _Skyburn_ becoming widespread knowledge, at least not until we can shape the revelation to suit our purposes."

"Indeed. After the disaster at Salamandastron before the Accord, we were left with only three dreadnaughts, and have since only been able to add a fourth to the Fleet due to interruptions in the lumber supply. The loss of even one of those master ships would constitute a major blow to our naval power. Such a setback, coming now of all times, must be controlled very closely."

"Why now, Spymaster? And where is His Majesty? I'd have thought he would want to be present to hear my report himself."

"The answer to both those questions is the same. King Tratton is not currently at Terramort." Uroza proceeded to explain to Tillark, in a few concise sentences, how Tratton had ventured into the inner lands after passing through Salamandastron … and finding the Badger Lord also, to his immense surprise, absent from his own stronghold. "We had hoped you could provide verification of Urthblood's presence in Southsward. All indications were that that was where he had gone, but we had no definite proof, and his own soldiers made sure to offer no clue or confirmation on the matter."

Tillark gave a nod - a degree of physical expression seldom demonstrated by the stoic agents of Uroza's Bureau. "That he has, Spymaster. He arrived on a woodlander trading vessel, crewed by otters. He brought with him a score of his Gawtrybe, and a slightly larger number of mouse soldiers. They set out into the heart of Southsward immediately upon disembarking, and I departed that very same day at all speed, to deliver this news as promptly as I could. I … did not expect to find His Majesty gone from Terramort."

"We did not advertise this expedition widely, even among the Bureau or senior commanders. As far as most of Terramort knows, His Majesty departed for Talaga, and remains there still with the Queen, perhaps to be on paw for the birth of the prince or princess. So, how fares Korba with his own mission to Southsward?"

"Would that I had news to share on that front, Spymaster, but there has been no word from his party since they struck out for Floret."

"Hmm. Then it's likely he has already met with failure - and even if he hasn't, Urthblood's interference can only complicate matters at Floret, perhaps beyond salvaging. It was a long shot to begin with, but still, I had hoped you might bear more encouraging news. And now that you've delivered it, you must return to Southsward right away, just to make sure you are there in case Korba's expedition should reappear, or if anything happens regarding Urthblood which must be observed and reported."

"Should I tell any of the officers or commanders on the scene there of King Tratton's visit to Mossflower?"

"I wouldn't. The fewer who know, the better. Share it only on a need-to-know basis, at your discretion - with 'discreet' as your overriding consideration."

"Understood, Spymaster. I will share it with norat else, not even my own small crew, unless circumstances force me to - and I can't imagine why they would."

"We will make sure your original crew returns with you to Southsward, and remains aboard _Fleetrunner Two_ so that they cannot spread word of the _Skyburn_ 's loss. Being at sea can be the best kind of isolation."

"Too true. So, what are we to make of what Clantor told us?"

"Was he by any chance aware of the coordinates where the _Skyburn_ encountered the _Redfoam_?"

"An assistant steward? He knows naught of maps and bearings and latitude and longitude."

"Pity. We could have sent a fleetrunner out to investigate his story, see if we could find any physical evidence to corroborate it … or any other survivors."

"It might have all drifted far from the scene of the explosion by now in any case." Tillark paused. "Do you really think the _Redfoam_ could have caused the _Skyburn_ 's sinking?"

"I do. Did you know that, shortly before your own arrival, _Fleetrunner Six_ came to Terramort bearing news of His Majesty's successful departure for the inner lands, and of Urthblood's absence at Salamandastron, and presumed journey to Southsward?"

"No, Spymaster. How could I have known such a thing?"

"How indeed? And those weren't _Fleetrunner Six_ 's only tidings of interest. It seems that, two days out from Salamandastron, King Tratton and his escorts passed a certain other ship of the Fleet, just departed from Urthblood's mountain herself. The _Redfoam_ , by name. But what's most intriguing is that Captain Trangle, upon being boarded by our own Jagtar, revealed that he was already aware His Majesty sailed on the _Darktide_ in secret for the lands, even though there was no way he could have known."

Tillark stiffened. "You suspect a leak?"

"Actually, I do not. There's no way the news could have preceded His Majesty, even if there was a leak, not even by fleetrunner. I suspect it was rather Urthblood playing more of his prophetic mind games, and sharing what he foresaw with Trangle, for whatever reason. What matters is that Trangle knew, and now his ship has been implicated in a possible attack that has reportedly cost the Royal Navy one of its four remaining dreadnaughts. If I were of a half-suspicious mind, I might think Trangle has gone rogue, using Tratton's absence from his maritime realm to launch attacks against his fellow searats at a time when we would be poorly equipped and organized to counter."

"And if you were of a fully-suspicious mind?" Tillark prompted, appalled at the picture Uroza was painting.

"Then I might suspect Urthblood of doing more than just tipping off Trangle that His Majesty was on his way to Salamandastron and meant to take an extended foray into Mossflower. We know the ways of that badger verge on sorcery; can we discount out of paw that he planted some buried suggestion or compulsion deep in Trangle's mind which would lead him to turn on his fellow searats, and lead his crew in open revolt against the Empire at this precise moment when we stand at our most vulnerable? Where that badger is concerned, I discount nothing."

Tillark considered this, then voiced a comment. "What of our agents aboard the _Redfoam_? I assume we have some. Would they not have been able to forestall such a thing? To assassinate Trangle when they saw he was moving into open revolt against His Majesty?"

"If Urthblood knew through eldritch means all King Tratton meant to do, perhaps he also divined the identity of our agents hidden amongst the _Redfoam_ 's crew, and shared this information with Trangle so that they could be eliminated as a prelude to the revolt."

Tillark paled at this possibility; if Urthblood truly possessed such powers, could any searat anywhere be safe from him?

"All that matters," Uroza continued, "is that, whatever the reason, Trangle and his galleon now appear to have made themselves enemies of the Empire - and if they have already sunk a dreadnaught, they may try to sink other ships of the Fleet, or else capitalize on this achievement to convince other captains and ships to join them in standing against us. Perhaps Trangle is not alone; perhaps he has been plotting with other captains whose ships and crews even now move to strike against loyal vessels."

"Wouldn't we have known of this, Spymaster?" Tillark wondered, voicing the long-held assumption - and confidence - that nothing like this could ever happen under the Bureau's ever-watchful eyes.

"Wouldn't we have known of even one ship going rogue?" Uroza countered, pursing his lips. "But I would very much like to know how they pulled off the sinking of the _Skyburn_. Not only were they outgunned four catapults to one, but it would have taken such a precise shot at just the right spot to have detonated the Skyburn's main powder magazine. And Clantor's testimony suggests they wouldn't have had time to smuggle a saboteur aboard … unless one was already aboard before the two ships encountered each other … in which case, the traitor could have destroyed the _Skyburn_ at the time and place of his choosing, without waiting for the _Redfoam_ to be on the scene … "

Tillark broke respectfully into Uroza's musings. "Could it be that Trangle is blameless after all? That coincidence placed the _Redfoam_ at the scene when the saboteur struck? Or that it wasn't sabotage at all, but an accident, and Trangle fled the scene out of fear of being thought responsible for this catastrophe?"

"Possible, I suppose, although captains of the Fleet are trained to render assistance to fellow ships in distress, not to flee. No, I still suspect foul play here, and the _Redfoam_ 's behavior speaks of complicity. She must be found, and Trangle must be brought in for examination - and if he resists, he and his crew must be slain, to the very last rat if necessary."

Tillark gave a single nod. "I understand, Spymaster. Are your orders still for me to return to Southsward with all haste, or have they changed in light of this development?'

Uroza sat in silent contemplation for a long time, a shadow crossing his already black face as he ruminated on considerations which had occupied his mind even before Tillark's arrival, making connections few other minds in the Empire might make.

"No," he said at last, a hint of disquiet edging his voice. "No, I think a change of plans for you is called for, in light of what we have learned. I must impose upon you to make a quick run to the Doldrums for me."


	55. Chapter LIV

**LIV.**

 **REDWALL**

Of the rats seeking sanctuary within Redwall, Truax was set to seething above all the rest by the presence of searats in their midst.

The former Northlands captain had joined Harth on the battlements overlooking the road to watch what was going on out there, and both stood incredulous as agreement was reached and the seavermin were disarmed and ushered through the main gates into the Abbey grounds. Shifting their position around to the south ramparts so they could observe the proceedings on the lawns below from a safe yet unobstructed remove, the two refugees commiserated, and Harth was surprised by the vehemence and vitriol with which Truax castigated their latest visitors.

"Treacherous, murderous seascum! Vile, bloodthirsty plunderers! Why're they bein' let inta Redwall?! Why?"

"Not exactly happy 'bout it m'self, friend, but dunno why ye're so bent outta shape. Ain't Urthblood our main enemy now, an' ain't searats _his_ enemy, which would kinda put us on th' same side?"

"Same side?! What pipeweed've you been smokin'? Remember the Accord? Remember the treaty 'tween Urthblood an' Tratton, an' the agreement that sends all us land rats Tratton's way - y' know, th' reason we're _here_ , an' not able t' set one claw outside these walls? Naw, Urthblood an' Tratton ain't enemies no more, an' we're the ones who're suffering at the expense of whatever they're both hopin' t' gain from alla this."

"Hm. You ever met Tratton?"

"Nay. Not sure anybeast in Urthblood's service ever did, 'fore the Accord, which I wasn't around fer. Leastways, not anybeast who lived t' tell about it. But I fought plenny o' his rats up north, an' they were some o' the toughest foes you'd ever wanna face. Bad 'nuff we had wildcats an' would-be warlords an' vermin bands t' deal with in tamin' the Northlands, but on top of it all was Tratton's spies an' fighters, allers turnin' up when and where y' least expected 'em to, workin' toward their own ends, which were always 'gainst ours. Least with our other enemies, we could allers know 'xactly where we stood with 'em - take an accountin', know their positions an' numbers, work up stratergies t' deal with 'em accordin'ly. With Tratton, seemed like they could just pop up outta nowhere, since they weren't based on land, and like he could throw endless numbers at us; no matter how many we slew, there'd allers be more. We lost a lotta our fighters to those throat-slashers - lost some o' my friends to 'em - an' they were th' worst, 'specially to us rats. Guess they saw us as traitors, or corrupted or sumpthin'. But if you were a rat sworn to Lord Urthblood, last thing you'd ever want was t' fall inta the clutches of Tratton's crews."

"You think they mean t' cause trouble here?"

"Think they will, meanin' to or not. Looks like they already have, judgin' by Lekkas's reaction just now. Why in th' seven fursodden seasons would the Abbot agree t' let 'em in?"

"Unless t'was the Abbess who decided for 'im."

"Aye, an' what's up with that anyway? I thought he was s'posed t' be head mouse 'round here again, after that weird note showed up with Saugus an' the Abbess stepped down, but seems like some o' the Abbey leaders still look to her fer final say on things. Kinda confusin', all this back 'n' forth. Least when I served Urthblood, we allers knew who was in charge."

"I very much doubt either Abbot or Abbess woulda let 'em in on a whim. Whatever that red fool down there told our mice, must've presented a pretty persuasive case - an' it still wasn't enuff t' get th' Gawtrybe in."

Truax nodded. "Yeah, at least these Abbeyfolk ain't lost their sense alt'gether."

"What about that red one? He known t' you at all, by sight or reputation?"

"Nay. Almost looks like 'ee's tryin' t' dress as a mockery o' Lord Urthblood, with all that red … 'cept 'ee went way overboard, dyin' his paws an' tail like that, an' that red eyepatch too. Ain't no rat I ever heard tell of."

"Well, they're in now, whether we want it or not, so might's well head down an' see fer ourselves what's up with all this. Put our two acorns in, as these folk like t' say, an' mebbe while we're at it make our displeasure known over not bein' consultered on this first."

Harth led the way, with Truax trailing slightly. Upon reaching the spot just inside the front gate where the searats' confiscated arms were being arranged in their own separate pile alongside the woodland rats' own surrendered weaponry, the two refugee rodents found a minor disagreement brewing between the red rat and the Abbey defenders.

"Abbess, our standards're th' symbol o' our kingdom. They're meant t' be flown on full display wherever they go. You can't seize 'em - they ain't weapons."

"Oh, I don't know, Captain," Vanessa shot back. "Those staff tips look pretty pointy to me. I'm sure guards as resourceful as yours would have no trouble running somebeast through with them. Sorry, but they go on the pile with all your blades and spears and bows - unless you'd prefer to leave them planted outside our gates where the Gawtrybe can keep an eye on them for you."

"Was rather thinkin' you could fly 'em from yer battlements while we're 'ere, t' signerfy we're stayin' at Redwall an' show us that honor … as honored guests, y' unnerstand."

"You must be joking," Vanessa deadpanned.

The red rat seemed poised between a chuckle and a scowl. "Mmmmaybe … "

Harth chose that moment to cut in. "Abbess, what're these searats doin' here, an' why've they been let inta the Abbey?"

"Captain Redclaw is making a diplomatic circuit of Mossflower, although it's not yet clear just how much diplomacy he's had the opportunity to exercise prior to his arrival at Redwall. I'm sure he'll gladly share with us over dinner all his travel experiences from his journey so far. But just from what little he told us out in the road, we deemed he bore sufficiently noteworthy tidings to earn himself a night at our tables. And I'm sure _you_ will want to be there too, since much of what he has to say may bear directly upon your present situation."

"An' won't yer Friar be thrilled," Truax said from over Harth's shoulder, "havin' an extra score an' a half o' rats t' feed - an' not jus' rats, but searats - an' right on th' eve when he an' his staff're bakin' an' cookin' all they gotta get ready fer t'morrow's Nameday feast."

Vanessa waved off Truax's concerns on this front. "Oh, I'm sure some simple summer fare can be thrown together on short notice to satisfy the tastes of such weary travellers as these. After all, even simple Redwall fare surpasses most food and drink that's to be found elsewhere, or so it's often said, and after subsisting on marching rations between here and the coast, I'm confident our newest guests will find little cause for complaint."

"Wager ye're right on that score, Abbess marm," Redclaw agreed, "since we had a chance t' sample that grayfooted ferret tavernkeep's drink just earlier t'day, an' he confided t' me that most of what 'ee had in 'is cellars was Redwall-brewed. Lookin' for'ard t' more o' that, I am - even if some o' my guard 'ere might prefer plain ol' searat grog!"

"Then they can drink straight from the Abbey pond, which we've caught several of our current rat guests using as a latrine, much as we've warned them against doing so. I'm sure that would fit your own grog-loving rats' tastes just fine. Now, about those standards … "

In the end, the searat pennants were taken back outside and driven into the ground on either side of the Abbey gates, where their fluttering colors of red, black and green could advertise the identity of the creatures currently visiting Redwall. The presence of the Gawtrybe with their own banners underscored who would _not_ be visiting Redwall at this time, at least in terms of being allowed inside.

In something of a departure from protocol for visiting guests, Redclaw insisted that every one of his thirty guards be seated with him - which, once arranged, left very little room at the central table in Great Hall for any of the other Abbey leaders. Geoff took his traditional Abbot's place at the head of the table, with Winokur ceding to Vanessa his Recorder's spot at Geoff's right paw. Alongside Vanessa, at her insistence, sat Harth and Truax, the two creatures at Redwall she deemed to be most immediately impacted by the searat mission. Redclaw, as the honored guest, held the spot at Geoff's left, while at the rat captain's other side sat the senior bodyguard he'd introduced as Talarek. Beyond these six beasts, searats packed the benches, leaving no room for even Arlyn or Maura or Clewiston or Montybank or any other Abbey leader; it appeared it would be up to Geoff and Vanessa to hold court with their naval dignitaries.

Due to the uncertainty of the situation, Geoff skipped any sort of blessing or benediction as the food and drink were set out by Friar Hugh's staff, torn away from their culinary Nameday preparations to provide a simple repast of various light ales and cordials, late spring garden salads and breads and cheeses. Many of the searats looked askance at the leafy vegetables filling their bowls as if being asked to ingest such a thing was a joke (although in truth many Abbeybeasts might have felt the same way about the old searat standby kelp stew) and regarded the mild beverages with the same lack of enthusiasm with which they'd greeted Grayfoot's offerings earlier that afternoon. They showed no such qualms or reservations about the bread and cheese which, despite its simplicity, stood out as so superior to anything in their regular diet that they had all they could do to keep from wolfing it down in an unseemly manner.

"So, Captain," Geoff began ambivalently, searching for any words to fill the empty spaces, "how do you like Redwall?"

The rat in red glanced about Great Hall before his gaze settled back on Harth and Truax. "Fine place y' got here, Abbot. Tho' I'd enjoy my grub a lot more if those two weren't glowerin' at me like that."

"Well, I suppose they have good reason to glower, don't they, considering what Lord Urthblood and your own King have conspired to force upon them. But perhaps, if you share with them now what you told us outside, they'll have considerably less reason to look so cross."

"Ah, you mean 'bout King Tratton endin' all slavery in 'is Empire?"

Vanessa jumped in at this juncture. "You know, I've always wondered about that. Is Tratton a king, or an emperor? Is his domain a kingdom, or an empire? It can't be both."

Redclaw grinned. "Sure it can, if 'ee sez it is."

Geoff cleared his throat. "But, um, back to the matters at paw, if we may … "

"Is it true?" Truax demanded of Redclaw. "That Tratton's puttin' an end t' slav'ry on all 'is ships an' islands? Even fer us land rats bein' rounded up an' sent 'is way?"

"That's my understandin'. His Majesty ain't never been enamored o' slaves who could cause 'im trouble, an' he'd just as glad be rid of all of 'em. Now's 'is chance."

"So, why're rats still bein' swept up an' led away in chains?" Harth asked. "'Cos we know it's still happ'nin', all through this part o' Mossflower, worse'n ever. Why ain't Urthblood an' 'is squirrels lettin' up?"

"That's fer you an' him t' thrash out. Far as we're concerned, he could stop it all now, an' never send another one o' you our way, an' we'd be perfectly happy with that."

"So you see," Geoff explained to the two land rats with cheerful optimism, "this means your presence here at Redwall no longer constitutes a crisis at all! At least not as Lord Urthblood and the Gawtrybe would have had us believe. Captain Redclaw has assured us that King Tratton would not push the matter of us sheltering you within our home, and will cause no trouble over it. And once slavery is fully eliminated in the searat domain, I'm sure everything else will just follow naturally, and this entire affair will resolve itself of its own accord … oh, ha. Didn't mean to make a pun there, but I guess I just did, didn't I?"

"Not so sure 'bout that, Abbot," Truax begged to differ, fastening his gaze on the red rat. "Does this mean me 'n' my family'll be free t' leave Redwall now, t' go where we please without fear o' bein' molested or detained by Urthblood's forces?"

"P'raps not right this instant, but as the Abbot says, it'll surely all sort itself out in good time. You could all leave right now far as I'm concerned an' be free t' go where you will, but might take a bit 'fore us 'n' Urthblood're on th' same page."

"Has yer King made this known to that badger?" Harth pressed.

"Was kinda hard fer me t' deliver that message to 'im, consid'rin' he weren't at Salamandastron when I got there."

This surprised Truax more than Harth. "Not there? Where'd 'ee go?"

Vanessa took the liberty of answering for the searat. "It seems Lord Urthblood has decided to take a pleasure cruise down to Southsward - no doubt to meddle in affairs there as he has here. I wonder how that's going for him?"

"I was a cap'n of Urthblood's forces, 'fore he turned against my kind," Truax said to Redclaw, "an' I seen enuff o' that badger t' know he don't do things halfway, an' don't rush inta anything without careful consid'ration an' planning. He's goin' all-out with this rat resettlement campaign - this Purge o' his - like naught else I've ever seen him tackle, so I s'pect it'd take an' awful lot t' turn him aside in this effort. So it's all well 'n' good fer you to sit there sayin' there'll soon be no more slav'ry in yer Empire an' that it's no skin off yer snout if we all go free an' Urthblood never delivers you another one o' us land rats, but unless you can get him on th' same cart ye're ridin' in, it don't mean much, or do much t' help us, does it?"

Redclaw regarded Truax with his one-eyed gaze. "You were a captain o' Urthblood's? That musta been … awkward. How'd you make it to Redwall?"

"Not easily, you c'n be sure o' that. I was one o' the few lucky ones in the North to escape th' Purge - mebbe the only one, along with half my family."

"Then that must be a tale worth tellin'. P'raps I'll hear it 'fore movin' on from this Abbey. But as I told the Abbot 'n' Abbess outside, givin' us all you land rats weren't anything that started with us, an' we'd be just as happy with or without it - maybe happier without, truth be told. T'was all Urthblood's idea. You want this Purge o' his t' stop, you take it up with that stripelord an' his soldiers, 'cos they're th' ones y' gotta persuade."

"In that case," Truax shot back, "yer words don't mean much, an' we're stuck here fer the duration, 'cos our own words don't carry any weight with Urthblood t'all. You really think he'd pay any attention to what we'd have t' say to him? Th' very rats he's slappin' in chains an' tearin' away from their homes?"

"Actshully, it's my understandin' you usually reach us in ropes, not chains. But I was more thinkin' of these Abbey folk doin' the talking. As th' central power here in Mossflower, or so I'd allers heard, they'd have authority t' negotiate on yer behalf that you'd not have yerselves - an' looks t' me like they got reason t' wanna do it, too. Then again, with that big loomin' fox tower Urthblood's got here now, an' all his squirrels stationed in these woodlands too, mebbe he doesn't view 'imself as needin' Redwall's approval or cooperation after all."

"That's an understatement," Geoff grumbled. "And that's why we could all really use your help in this, Captain Redclaw. Former Captain Truax raises a very good point in that, as the very victims of Lord Urthblood's Purge, they're not exactly in any position to advocate on their own behalf. I've heard them try, with the Gawtrybe, and to say those squirrels' reactions have been dismissive would be putting it mildly. And our own efforts, as Redwallers, have met with little more success than those of our involuntary rat guests. But if you can convince King Tratton, as Lord Urthblood's negotiating partner in all of this, to make his own position more forcefully known - that he neither wants nor needs any additional rats sent his way from Mossflower - then perhaps he'll be able to achieve what we here have not. You claim to be travelling under a flag of peace, and to have journeyed here in the spirit of diplomacy. Well, what could be more diplomatic, and a better gesture of good faith and intent, than helping us to resolve this impasse, in an area where your influence with Urthblood almost certainly outstrips our own? If you can do this for us, then perhaps we will be more inclined to see you in the light of diplomacy in which you claim to have come to us."

At an adjacent table, from where he attentively followed the discussion, Clewiston issued forth a loud and undisguised snort of derision.

Redclaw pointedly ignored the hare's bad grace, even as Talarek glared Clewiston's way. "Then I'll certainly make sure 'is Majesty knows of yer feelin's, an' yer request. I'm sure he'll take it under advisement. But ain't I already shown you a demonstration o' good faith, as ye put it? I brought to you a woodland rat th' Gawtrybe were bound to arrest an' send off to th' coast, after convincin' 'em t' turn 'im over t' me. That oughta prove I'm less int'rested in gettin' more o' these rats sent my way than I am in showin' I mean no ill will or malice towards Redwall."

Vanessa gave a half-smirk. "One rat? Well, I suppose it's a start - even if that rat will now be forced to shelter in here with all our others, denied the freedom to walk abroad in the lands as is his right. And I'm sure our new resident Barnaget appreciates your largess every bit as much as the Gawtrybe do not, since they undoubtedly would have loved to question him on his recent travels, with incentives which might leave scars or bruises. So for that, at least, we are grateful."

"Yes," Geoff picked up, "I'm sure our otter Recorder Winokur sorely regrets missing this historic conversation between Abbeybeasts and searats, but he felt it was more important to help get … Bernagart, was it? … settled in and soothed. Can't have been an easy thing that rat went through, nearly being captured like that. Brother Winokur has taken it upon himself to work extensively with our rat refugees, and I daresay this past season may well have been a disaster without his selfless efforts. He's earned the trust of those creatures, and has labored to no end to help them find a place here in our community. Now, on the subject of getting settled in, I suppose we must turn our attention to just how we're going to get _you_ settled in. We've already told you you can spend the night inside our walls if you wish, so the question now becomes, what arrangements are we to make to that end?"

"Arrangements?" Redclaw arched an eyebrow, uncertain of what the Abbot was getting at. "I just assumed we'd be given rooms an' beds of our own, an' that'd be that. Ain't you Redwallers know fer yer 'ospitality?"

Now it was Truax's turn to snort, with Harth nearly joining him. "You expect these good folk t' just invite ya inta their midst, turn their backs on you an' put out all th' lights an' turn inta their beds, leavin' you t' creep about as y' please? Must be dumber'n you look - an' you look pretty dumb in that getup."

It seemed to the two land rats that Redclaw almost took some secret satisfaction at this assault on his fashion sense. "Aw, but we been relieved o' all our weapons. Couldn't do not harm if'n we tried."

"I'm sure you could, if you tried," Vanessa said to him. "Be that as it may, our hospitality is not lacking these days, but sadly our beds are. There's simply no room up in any of our dormitories for a score and a half of searats - which leaves the cozy confines of Cavern Hole, or the soft wide expanses of our lawns. I'm afraid those are your only options, if you wish to overnight within Redwall."

Truax scowled. "Ye're actshully consid'rin' lettin' 'em stay th' night, Abbess?"

"Don't send 'em out with us," Harth quickly followed up. "Only honest woodland rats out on those lawns."

"Some of whom happen to be former horde rats, and can't be very happy with their current predicament," Vanessa followed through, "or the searats they hold partly to blame for that predicament. So, Cavern Hole it is. We'll be able to keep you much better guarded for your protection there anyway, what with the Long Patrol warrens just a tunnel away. You'll never sleep more soundly, I guarantee it!"

"Hope y' don't snore too loud," Clewiston put in from the next table over. "Then again, none of us'll be sleepin' anyway."

"Hares 'n' badgers," the guardsrat named Talarek muttered, then addressed Vanessa. "Abbess, are there any beds down in this Cavern Hole of yours?"

"Beds? Goodness, no. It's a meeting and gathering space, much as Great Hall here is, if a bit smaller and cozier than this high-ceilinged, stained glass chamber, so naturally there are no beds there. But our Guosim friends spend every winter sleeping there on their mats and blankets, and if it's good enough for them, it's surely good enough for you. Once we're finished here, we'll show you down to where you'll be spending the night, and get you settled in there."

A short time later, with the visiting searats having had their fill of food and drink, the Redwallers escorted them down to their accommodations. Passing either side table where Sodexo and Hekko sat with their daughter Bostany and their distant cousin Metellus, Talarek grumbled to his scarlet-clad master, "Four of 'em! How many stripedogs does this place have?"

"I was beginnin' t' wonder th' same thing myself," the mock-captain replied, staying only half in character.

The searats were heartened to see that only seven broad steps separated Cavern Hole from Great Hall, and that the more low-ceilinged space was still homey and somewhat cheery; the name had led some to suspect they were being shunted to some dim, dark recesses in the far corner of the Abbey's vast cellars. Looking about, Redclaw said, "Aye, this should do fine. We been carryin' our own beddin's fer our travels - left 'em up on th' lawns along with our weapons 'n' provisherns. Wouldja mind havin' 'em brought down so we ain't sleepin' on bare stone? If that ain't in violation o' some Abbey rule or other … "

"Not at all," Vanessa replied with easy cheer. "I'll see to that right away, and will now bid you a good night and pleasant sleep, Captain Whiteclaw."

The red-garbed rat's head whipped around at the green-robed Abbess. "What did you just call me?"

"Oh, I do apologize. Took a bad knock on my head a few seasons ago, left me a bit scatterbrained at times. Always getting things mixed up, like colors … but at least I can still tell who's who. See you in the morning, Captain."

Redclaw and Talarek watched the female mouse retreat up the stairs to Great Hall, their twin gaze boring into her back. Then the guardsrat turned to his master. "Do you think … she knows?"

"Hard to tell … but I'd bet my good eye she ain't one to get things mixed up, and she's about the least scatterbrained creature I've ever crossed wits with."

Up in Great Hall, Geoff greeted Vanessa with nervously-working paws. "I'm not so sure about this, Nessa. I'm not sure about this at all. Searats, at Redwall? And on Nameday, of all times? How do we know this won't turn into another disaster like when we let Matowick in? What if Redclaw is also here under false pretenses, and seeks to cause us trouble?"

"For one thing, I am completely returned to my senses and fully back to myself, as I was not when Matowick came to us. As for playing us false, I do not believe that is our friend Redclaw's game - at least not in the sense you mean. I gather that he has come here primarily to experience Mossflower and Redwall, just as he claims … and I anticipate having some interesting discussions with him in the days ahead. Very interesting indeed."


	56. Chapter LV

**LV.**

 **CASTLE FLORET**

"You know, Daddy's right - you are pretty boring."

Alexander regarded Princess Jinrae with surprised disappointment. "Well, I'm only trying to - "

"Now, Jinny, be polite to our Redwall guest," Princess Larubia admonished her adolescent sibling. "He can't help it if he comes from a place so much less exciting than Floret."

On this evening Alex dined with the Prince and Princesses in a private chamber a fraction of the size of any banquet hall or ballroom within the palace, yet still more ostentatious than any space in the Abbey save Great Hall itself. This mealtime audience stood as the Mossflower squirrel's last-ditch effort to warn anybeast at Floret about the danger Urthblood represented, since Fael seemed determined to rebuff and marginalize Alex in the course of his courtly game-playing, and Tammion Tesque and Thrubble Thern had proven unresponsive as well. As far as Queen Saqueena, Alex cared not to risk any private audience with Fael's wife which come across as an act of impropriety, even if Saqueena might welcome it - or especially if she might. Which left the Royal offspring as his last best hope to make any inroads against the badger's ambitions in Southsward. So far, however, his efforts along these lines had met with no greater success here than anywhere else.

It didn't help that the Royal son and daughters had invited Seffner Capellan to dine with them on this occasion as well.

"What can one expect from a beast who tends its own fur?" Capellan sniffed, injecting his insight on his particular area of expertise into a conversation which otherwise had him at a loss, since the affairs of the powers at play in the wider lands were totally beyond him.

"Oh, ha ha ha!" the youngest Princess Temma tittered in a manner very much like her father's affected laugh. "We can always rely on you to add a little levity to our proceedings! Always such a delight!"

Seffner favored the squirrelmaid with a smug smile of satisfaction. "Well, I'm no Jed Tester, but I do have my moments, I suppose!"

"We all know the only reason you insisted on being included here tonight was because you so admire our Redwall visitor's coat," Prince Justis softly teased the furrierre. "Couldn't pass up another chance to see it up close."

"That's why we made a point of seating you next to each other," Larubia added aloofly, eliciting a mildly abashed blush from the prim pelt-tender.

Alex frowned. "I'm trying to discuss important matters here, not the kind of trivialities you all keep bringing up."

The Royal squirrels looked at him as if he'd just transformed into a particularly unappealing piece of spoiled food, while Seffner gaped in shock. "My dear fellow, there's _nothing_ trivial about well-tended and properly-maintained fur." Giving Alex a thorough going-over from head to tail, he amended, "And the things I could do with _yours_ … "

"Keep on wishing," Alex muttered, determined now more than ever to never allow Capellan to have his way with his fur, or any other part of him. "I don't know why you're not all taking this more seriously. After everything I've told you about what Urthblood has done in Mossflower, how can you not be concerned that he'll try to do the same thing here in Southsward?"

"What, you mean get rid of all our rats?" Jinrae asked with genuine cluelessness. "Well, why would that be such a bad thing? We don't have very many rats here to begin with, and those we do we could very easily do without, so if Lord Stripedog wishes to put himself out by gathering up all of ours and sending them away to the searats, it really wouldn't affect us one way or the other."

"If you've been listening to what I've been saying," Alex said with growing impatience, "the rats could just be the start of it, a pretext to insert himself into Southsward's affairs and gain a foothold in these lands. It could lead to his insistence to establish strongholds of his own here, which he'd say he needs to carry out his campaign, and relocation of his fighters to Southsward to staff those outposts and carry out the sweeps …and what then? What if they refuse to leave after they've gotten rid of all the rats?"

"Refuse to leave? Why, that's nonsense! Nobeast stays in Southsward without Daddy's leave."

"Then you can be sure that's exactly what Urthblood will work to secure. That's the way he operates. He offers alliances, strategic agreements, false promises he never intends to honor … and the next thing anybeast knows, he's made himself the top authority in those territories, using his Gawtrybe and other forces to carry out his will and run roughshod over any opponents who dare to stand up to him or speak out against him. That's what he did in the Northlands, that's what he's doing now in Mossflower, and you can be sure that's what he'll try to do in Southsward too, if you open the door to him by the slightest crack and allow him to get his claws into your homelands."

"Oh, so you've been to the Northlands?"

"Well, no, but - "

"So you don't really know what's going on there at all, do you?"

Alex bristled, if not literally. "I've spoken with a number of beasts who have seen firstpaw what Urthblood has done up there … victims of his Purge … "

"You mean rats?" Prince Justis probed. "You trust the word of rats over that of a Lord and his officers? The last I checked, badgers and squirrels were trustworthy species, whereas rats, not so much."

"It hasn't just been rats," Alex protested. "There have also been the hares of the Long Patrol, who know a thing or two about Badger Lords themselves, and they've sought to warn us from the very beginning of Urthblood's treachery, and the danger he represents to the lands. One of them shadowed that badger during his Northland campaigns, before Urthblood even visited Redwall for the first time, and he saw for himself how that red menace spread his tyranny, seducing his targets with dire warnings of some vague great crisis and promises of peace and security until they were beholden to him and bound up in his deceit beyond any hope of disentanglement. At least we were able to avoid such ensnarement ourselves, but would that we had paid greater heed to our Long Patrol friends sooner and regarded Urthblood with the proper suspicion he warranted."

"Yes," Larubia picked up, "but those bunnies are hardly impartial, unbiased parties in all of this themselves, are they? They served a different, competing Badger Lord, and ended up on the losing side of a war between them. Yes, you see, some news of the lands outside our own domain does reach us here. We do stay abreast of current events. And from where we sit, what happened at Salamandastron was an internal power struggle, with two badgers each insisting on having the throne entirely to himself. Perhaps the craftier, more ruthless claimant emerged victorious, but isn't that always the way of things in the wider, less civilized world? And why would our father want to negotiate with anybeast less worthy than one who could successfully secure his own power base? Kings should deal only with those who have thrones of their own, and not mere pretenders to thrones."

"With all due respect, Princess, we are talking about Mossflower here, not Salamandastron."

"No," she imperiously corrected, "we are talking about Southsward - our home. Just because Redwall lacks the power to keep Urthblood from acting in ways you do not approve of in your own region of Mossflower, do not think that could happen here. Floret is a castle, not an Abbey, and Southsward is a kingdom, not some loose collection of unaffiliated woodland settlements. Fael is King to all creatures here, and they owe their fealty to him and no other - at least until the day that Justis or I takes the throne of Floret. If Urthblood is even allowed to remain in Southsward beyond these present negotiations, he will be bound by our rules, our laws, our decrees - and all of Southsward will see to it that he abides by our wishes, unless he cares to buy himself a war he cannot possibly win."

"Urthblood's pretty good at not losing wars - and even better at avoiding them altogether while still manipulating beasts and events into delivering the outcome he desires. I just want to be sure you know what you're dealing with in him - and that the King knows as well."

"Daddy's no dolt!" young Temma protested. "Nobeast and no badger'll pull the sackcloth over his eyes!"

"Temma's right," Justis affirmed. "Our father knows the ways of power better than you seem to think, and how to exercise that power, especially here in Southsward. He'll not give anything away or seal any deal not to his advantage. If Urthblood wants everything, he will end up with exactly nothing … not that I can see any badger standing as the kind of enemy you portray."

"Urthblood's no ordinary badger," Alex said with a sigh, concluding that he'd pressed his points here as fully as he could, and nothing remained that further words could convey.

For the next few moments only the clink of silverware against bowls and plates held sway in the chamber, a lull in conversation broken at length by Seffner Capellan's softly-spoken comment, "That badger … not sure there's much I could do with _his_ fur."

Smartly-appointed mouse attendants - perhaps some of the same mice who'd depicted hordesrats in the Liberation Day pageant - cycled in and out just as they'd done all evening, clearing away empty servingware and replacing it with new courses and appetizers and side dishes in a nonstop culinary parade which, while not as extravagant as the banquets served around the festival, still spoke of high living to a degree foreign to the Abbey squirrel. Now that rodentstaff brought out an entree which set the Royal squirrels' whiskers twitching in delighted anticipation, and Seffner licking his lips as he straightened to full attention. "Ah, broasted and braised pheasant!" the furrierre sighed in near-ecstasy. "They always prepare this dish just ever so right!"

Alex felt a wave of revulsion sweep over him even as the aroma of roasted flesh filled the chamber. "Pheasant? You mean, like, the bird?"

"No," Jinrae derided, "pheasant like the vegetable. Of course like the bird! What a silly question!"

Temma tittered and giggled at her middle sister's snarky temerity.

"Don't you … how can you … I mean, you have peacocks strutting around the castle as members of the Royal Court! How can you eat the flesh of a sentient creature?"

Jinrae scoffed. "Members of the Royal Court?! Those preening piles of plumage? Don't be preposterous. They may be beautiful when they spread their tailfeathers on display, but that's all they are: living ornamentation, brought here to brighten up dark corners of Floret. They're hardly a part of the Royal Court."

"But they're still birds," Alex maintained. "Would you eat one of them?"

"Of course not," Prince Justis replied. "They are far too handsome and splendid to ever meet the fate of the roasting pan - or at least the males are, although we'd not harm any peahens either, out of deference to both. Besides, our peacocks and peahens are here by arrangement with Canto Attia, and we are bound to treat them with the respect of a visiting dignitary."

"So, it's only diplomacy that keeps you from eating them? I guess the pheasants of Southsward were just born unlucky in that respect."

"Hatched," Jinrae corrected. "Birds are hatched, not born."

"Whatever. Do you murder any other bird species for your dinner plates, or just pheasant?" Alex eyed the meat-laden plates being set at each place, and waved away the servermouse who threatened to deposit one in front of him.

"Murder?" repeated the Prince. "That's rather harsh. It's not as if they're our fellow furred beasts, is it?"

"Have you ever bothered to speak with any of the pheasants you eat?" Alex challenged.

"Well, that would be rather impossible," Jinrae pointed out, "since they're quite dead by the time they reach our table."

"I meant before they're hunted and slain. Obviously."

"Why would we talk to our food?" Temma asked with genuine puzzlement.

Alex regarded the youngest Princess with barely-hidden disdain. "Because maybe then you might learn something. Every creature who can speak may have something to teach, even if you might think they don't."

"Oh." Temma seemed uncertain what to do with this revelation … but then she tucked into her braised pheasant with undisturbed relish.

Jinrae whispered to Justis, loud enough for Alex to overhear, "Hope he's not around next time we serve frog's legs - we'll never hear the end of it!"

"Truly, Chieftain Alexander," Larubia all but admonished the Redwaller, "we did hope that when you asked to dine with us this evening, it would be to gift us with scintillating talk and wit, or to regale us with tales to entertain and divert. Do not think me impolite to put forth that you have rather … disappointed us in this regard."

"I've told you stories," he begged to differ. "I've told you stories of what Urthblood has been up to in Mossflower, stories you should find more immediately involving than any heroic tale of yore, since it's all still happening, as we sit here. An Abbey under siege, rats being swept up in this Purge, goodbeasts being strong-armed into cooperation at risk of incessant harassment … and who knows what else has gone on there since I left?"

"Yes, but you relate it all with the dry manner of a scouting report, and the indignant umbrage of a beast too invested in such proceedings to see their objective value."

Alex sat stunned. "Objective value?"

"Although I did like the part about chasing the ratmaid across the plains," Jinrae put in. "That was almost exciting. Almost."

Alexander stared from face to face, mortified. "Is everything truly just an entertainment to all of you here? A diversion to relieve the pampered boredom of palace living, and fill your days? This is serious. This is real. Beasts are suffering out there, beyond these walls, because of what Urthblood is doing. Beasts are dying."

"Well, he's a warlord," Justis said matter-of-factly. "Isn't that what he does? Kill beasts?"

"Rather exciting," Jinrae added, "having somebeast like that in our midst. So mysterious, with no idea of what he might try to do."

"Yes, quite," Seffner Capellan added, with visible unease.

"So you see, Alexander of Redwall," Larubia told the Abbey squirrel, "if you think to turn us against that badger, you're going about it the wrong way. The more you try to warn us about the threat he poses to us, the more interesting that renders him in our eyes."

"Not that he's any threat at all," Justis said. "We've stripped him and his fighters of all their weapons, separated him and his captains from their main body of soldiers, keep a close watch on all of them wherever in the castle they go, and we have all of Thrubble Thern's otters and Tammion Tesque's squirrels to put them in their place if they should step out of line. We've only just held our annual Liberation Day pageant, and the lessons of the Urgan Nagru are still fresh in our thoughts. Never again will we allow a villain like that to trick his way into our Court and take advantage of our kindness. If Urthblood truly is the villain you maintain, then all I can say is woe to him, if he tries to exercise his villainy here in Floret."

"Although it would be interesting to see him try," said Larubia.

"Exciting, even," said Jinrae.

Temma held her silence, still thinking about what the Redwaller had said about talking to birds.

"Woe to Southsward is more like it," Alex muttered, rubbing at his temples and feeling like he was trapped in an absurd nightmare of illogic. "Listen, life is not a play, or a pageant. It's not an entertainment, whatever you've been brought up to believe here."

Larubia regarded the Abbeybeast sternly. "Do you not take valuable lessons from your own tales and legends? I was given to understand that you do. How is that any different from us and our pageant?"

"With all due respect, Princess, the play I witnessed the other day was so riddled with inaccuracies and discrepancies that it covered only the barest essentials of those events, and may have missed the heart entirely."

Every squirrel there regarded Alex with outright scorn at his derision of their grand presentation, and even some of the servermice froze to look his way with furrowed brows and downturned lips of disapproval. "Just because _you_ found fault with it … " Jinrae mocked. "And who's to say it's not your Abbey accounts that are riddled with inaccuracies?"

Alex stared the middle Princess in the eye. "Where are your bells?"

She returned his gaze, confused. "Bells?"

"In your pageant it was stated that Joseph the Bellmaker came to Floret to make many splendid bells for King Gael. We know you're good at preserving artifacts from that era, since Viceroy Korba wore Nagru's original wolf pelt for the pageant. So where are all the bells Joseph was going to make for Gael? As far as I can tell, Floret boasts not a single one. Your version of presented history doesn't even agree with your present reality."

"Maybe Joseph was killed by Nagru?" Temma postulated. "He didn't appear after the first scene, after all, so that's what must have happened."

"Makes perfect sense to me," Jinrae hastened to concur with her younger sister, while Justis and Capellan nodded in agreement and Larubia maintained her royal composure.

"Joseph was _not_ slain by Nagru," Alex asserted. "And he didn't come to Southsward to make bells for anybeast. A vision told him his daughter Mariel and her companion Dandin were in trouble and needed his help, so he journeyed here to join them in their fight against Nagru, and brought with him stout Redwallers and an entire tribe of Mossflower shrews to aid Gael in his time of need. How do you think Finnbarr Galedeep, the sea otter who put Nagru in his grave, even came to Southsward in the first place? It was because of Joseph. He was at the center of it all, along with Mariel and Dandin. Without them, the struggle against Nagru might have gone far differently."

Jinrae sniffed. That's not any version of history _I've_ ever heard of."

"Well, it's what happened," Alex insisted. "And with Urthblood setting his sights on Southsward now, I'd not be so quick to dismiss Redwall's substantial and perhaps tide-turning assistance to you in the time of King Gael, because the day may soon be coming when you'll be needing our help again, and grateful to have it."

"Southsward can take care of itself," Justis told Alex.

"Those dragons scare me more than any badger," Temma said.

"Although they are rather fascinating," said Justis.

"And exciting," said Jinrae. "Father says Urthblood thinks they can see the future or something, just like that badger can. All most interesting. Too bad he spoiled the corpse by cutting it all open. It would have made a wonderful exhibit."

"So much better than those moldy old searats," Justis opined. "They were entertaining for a little while, but now all they do is sit in their cages and mope … except for the three Father let out, to see how they compete with Urthblood. Think I'd rather have seen them matched up in paw-to-paw combat, which I gather our badger would have won even with just a single, injured paw, but that wouldn't have helped us with the dragons, so I suppose this way is best, even if it's not providing us with much to see in the short run."

"Yeah," Temma concurred, "it's taking _forever_ , or it seems like."

"Yes," said Jinrae, "that messenger Korba sent off downstream has had plenty of time to reach the coast. We should be hearing back from them any time now, assuming they haven't decided to just abandon their viceroy to Floret - which I'd not put past them."

"And Urthblood seems to be taking his own sweet time as well," Justis lamented. "He's surely worked out his own strategy by now, now that we've shot down his preposterous notion about incinerating those lizards with giant mirrors as totally unworkable. What a silly idea that was! Which didn't keep our craftsbeasts from running around in a tizzy for days, drafting plans and comparing notes to see if it could be done. Grand waste of time and effort _that_ was."

"You know," Alex put in, "he first proposed the idea for such a weapon when he visited Redwall two summers ago. Guess we should have realized even back then what kind of beast we were dealing with."

"Well, isn't that marginally interesting," Jinrae declared.

Alex took off his napkin and cast it on the table, pushing back his chair as he stood. "If you'll all kindly excuse me, I've had quite my fill. I can find my own way back to my quarters. Thank you for having me … and enjoy your braised and broasted pheasant."

"So polite, even in his rudeness," Jinrae commented. "His Abbey upbringing truly shows."

Out in the corridor, Alex found the usual retinue of guards standing at the ready wherever the Royal Family gathered, along with one other unexpected figure: Viceroy Korba. The squirrel and otter guards allowed the searat to approach the Redwaller, even as they kept a sharp eye on both.

"Ah, Alexander! Been hopin' to catch you alone fer a word. Tried t' join yer li'l dinner party, but these sourpusses wouldn't let me in. Guess carryin' th' title o' Viceroy to 'is Majesty King Tratton an' position of official envoy to an entire Empire don't carry much weight 'round here."

"Apparently not, considering you were in a cage the first time I saw you. At least you're looking much better these days. What can I do for you, Viceroy?"

"Ah, well, yes, terrible thing 'bout these lizard savages, ain't it? All th' Southswarders who've been slain by 'em, with more t' come, no doubt. Got ev'rybeast in an uproar, an' fearful. What d'ya s'pose is gonna be done about 'em?"

"Funny, I thought that's what you and Urthblood were supposed to be working out between the two of you."

"'tween us? 'Fraid you miscomprehend th' situation here, Chieftain. That badger ain't sharin' aught with me, much t' ev'rybeast's detriment. Keepin' all 'is plans an' schemes to 'imself, all selfish 'n' greedy. Think how much better t'would be fer all involved if we were t' pool our resources an' reach an agreed-upon solution quicker. Th' lives that could be saved … "

"Woodlander lives, which I wouldn't think would mean that much to you."

"Ah, but they'd mean a lot t' King Fael an' his subjects, an' that's who's pleasure we're all servin' now, ain't it? Yerself included."

"I neither seek Fael's favor, nor am I likely to win it. And I thought the entire point of having both you and Urhtblood working on separate solutions to these 'dragons' was to set it up as a competition, to sway Fael in his decision over which of you to declare an alliance with."

"Competition's a fine thing fer knickknacks 'n' trivialities, friendly wagers an' all, but fer really important an' vital matters, we can't be workin' 'gainst each other. Not when lives are at stake."

"Actually, I think you're wrong, Viceroy. In case you haven't noticed, everything's a game to King Fael, and the higher the stakes, the more twisted enjoyment he seems to derive from it all. But if you're so concerned about Southsward, why don't you go offer Urthblood an open collaboration. He's the one you'd need to speak with, not me."

"Aye, well, he's not 'xactly bein' open an' accommodatin' 'bout that 'imself, y' see. Might almost think he's been avoidin' me."

"Gee, I wonder why. Looks like he's taking this competition seriously, even if you're not. But then, I guess you are too, since you've sought me out in this manner."

For the first time, Korba's fawningly friendly mask slipped just a bit, revealing a glimpse of something sinister and threatening underneath. "What's that badger plannin'?"

"You'd love me to tell you that, wouldn't you, so you could try to come up with some way to counter his solution, or sabotage his own efforts. Sorry, you'll not get such pointers from me."

"Surprised ye'd take such an attitude, Chieftain. Been hearin' things ever since gettin' outta my cage, suggestin' matters ain't that rosy ner cozy 'tween Urthblood an' Redwall. Downright frigid, by some accounts. I'da thought you'd wanna see that badger frustrated an' brought up short ev'ry bit as much as we would. Who knows? Whatever tactics an' stratergies he works out an' tests here in Southsward could well end up bein' ones he brings t' bear 'gainst yer Abbey eventually too."

"Or against you."

Korba theatrically dismissed such an assertion. "Naw, we got the Accord in place. No chance o' hostilities 'tween Terramort an' Salam'daston - put all that behind us, we have."

"And yet Tratton and Urthblood still vie for influence with King Fael, seeking to shut each other out from an alliance with Southsward. That doesn't sound to me like it's all 'behind you.'"

"Aw, even friends can still have competin' int'rests, Chief. Don't mean th' peace 'tween us ain't still holdin' strong 'n' steady."

"Let's wait and see what Tratton has to say about that once he returns from Redwall and Mossflower."

Alex could tell this statement caught Korba completely off guard. "What? What're you talking about?"

"Oh, so I guess not _all_ the castle's gossip has reached your ears yet, has it? Seems your own King has taken it upon himself to embark upon a tour of Mossflower, for seasons only knows what reason. Perhaps he too has heard of the strife between Urthblood and Redwall, and seeks some manner of alliance with the Abbey, just as you and Urthblood do with Floret - not that any Abbot or Abbess would ever sign any agreement with searats. In fact, I'd not be surprised if Tratton returns from the inner lands supremely disappointed - if he returns at all. There'll be a great many creatures less than enthralled by the sight of searats tramping around Mossflower … and they can't all be counted on to behave themselves as civilly as Redwallers would."

Korba stood all but quailing at the receipt of this news. "Does … does Urthblood know of all this?"

"Of course he knows. He's the one who gave Tratton permission to strike out for the inner lands, with a score and a half of his rats to serve as an escort guard … and another score and a half of Gawtrybe to escort _them_."

"Th' Gawtrybe … went with 'em?"

"Naturally. You don't think Tratton would be allowed to wander free around Mossflower on his own, do you?"

"Those calculatin', bloodthirsty, murd'rous, red-furred … "

Alex snorted. "It sounds like your opinion of the Gawtrybe is much the same as mine. But I wouldn't worry; as you just said yourself, you've got the Accord in place, so Urthblood and Matowick couldn't possibly be planning anything against Tratton, could they? Just like they'd never try anything untoward against their professed friend and ally, Redwall."

It was clear from Korba's face and stance that whatever plans he'd been incubating here had now been cast into disarray. "This changes ev'rything. How'm I s'posed t' track 'im down in Mossflower?"

"You could always impose upon Urthblood to have one of his birds deliver any messages you need sent to Tratton. Since you're not competing or anything like that, I'm sure he'd be happy to oblige."

Korba glared at Alex.

"Then again," the Abbey squirrel pressed on, "if you can't expect any help from that quarter, I guess you'll just have to settle for whatever your two ships along the coast can provide. They looked pretty big to me, so I suppose they'll be able to supply everything you need, in the way of stormpowder and anything like that. After all, you'll just be blowing up some lizards; how hard can that be?"

"Redwaller, ya gotta tell me what Urthblood's plannin'!"

Alexander's face turned stony. "Why should I?"

"'Cos 'ee's yer enemy too! Workin' t'gether, we can defeat 'im here, an' keep 'im from gettin' his claws in Southsward!"

"At the cost of giving that alliance with Fael to you searats instead? Sorry, I'll not favor one ill choice over another. If it were up to me, I'd urge Fael to send you both away with nothing, leaving Floret to go along on its decadent, insular way. But that Royal squirrel likes his games too much to ever listen to me, so it looks like it's up to you and Urthblood to battle it out between the two of you … and may the less evil of you win. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm heading up to the roof for an evening stroll and some fresh air, to try to get the odor of cooked bird flesh out of my nostrils. Now that I've given up my seat in there, perhaps the guards will relent and allow you to take my place with the Prince and Princesses." Alex turned and strode purposefully from the searat, taunting over his departing shoulder, "I'm sure you'll find the menu more to your liking than I did."


	57. Chapter LVI

**LVI.**

 **IN DREAMS**

A faceless phantom invaded Mona's dreams that night.

" _Let … me … in … "_

The healer vixen's gallery of slumber shifted at this intrusion, diverting from the inner sights and sounds of her own imagination to address this new presence, all without waking.

 _Who …_

" _Let … me … in … "_

Mona stirred beneath her bedcovers, alone; Tolar was elsewhere, as he so often was these days, with the fate of his stronghold and the future of his command weighing heavily upon his mind. Whatever duty and worry had called him away this night, Mona had their shared bedchamber to herself.

" _Vixen … of the red tower … hear me … danger … in danger, you are … hear me, my sister!"_

Mona's unconscious thoughts fastened onto that last silently spoken word/idea and crystalized around it, this echo of a previous life capturing her wakeless attention. Sister?

" _Needed… you are … precious … you are … so very … very … precious … no harm must … upon you fall … we must … allow it not … "_

Mona's dream self reached out to this spectral intruder, trying to see it more clearly, to attach some shape or identity to it, to bolster the seed of hope this formless exchange had awakened within her.

 _Sister?_ The notion hung in her slumbering awareness like a wish of all things lost.

" _Fox of ground … fox of sky … together united … so one may survive!"_

Ground. Sky. Foxguard - the fortress built on the ground but which pierced the sky. _Yes_ , Mona thought, _that is me_. _I am a fox of both the ground and of the sky. Somebeast is talking about me._

But who?

" _Big groundling …. false vixen … plot, scheme, plot … your death they seek … this we cannot allow … "_

 _Who? Who are you?_

" _Stopped, they must be … stopped dead … dead, dead … "_

 _Jaffox? Plans to kill me?_

" _Dead, dead … waste of blood, sad waste of precious blood … cannot be helped … stop them we must … "_

 _Stop Jaffox? Yes, he must be stopped. But how?_

" _Know, you will … stop him you must … "_

Mona's silent inner voice became a pleading cry. _Who … are … you?_

" _We are … sisters."_

And then the voice was gone.

And when Mona awoke, she knew exactly what to do about Jaffox.

 **REDWALL**

Night passed into morning without incident, the rat known as Redclaw and his score-and-a-half of companion searats slumbering peacefully down in Cavern Hole, contained there and watched over by hare, otter, squirrel and shrew. The visiting rodents were roused on the very dawn of Nameday itself, delightedly twitching noses greeted by the savory aromas of the celebration's feast in full-tilt preparation. They quickly found their hopes of partaking in that event dashed, however, by a breakfast even more minimal than their previous evening's meal, and an announcement from Vanessa, made with Geoff's apparent backing.

"So glad to hear you all enjoyed a good night's sleep, Captain. Sadly, now, we must ask your party to step out of our Abbey while we throw our own party. Having you inside our walls for a light dinner of conversation and a simple follow-up breakfast is one thing, but we take our Namedays very seriously, and I'm afraid your continued presence would prove too disruptive and distracting to too many of our current residents. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be."

Redclaw nodded. "Understood an' appreciated, Abbess marm. Shame, tho' - woulda liked t' see fer m'self what one o' these legend'ry Redwall feasts is all about."

"Oh, _you_ still can, if you're so inclined," Vanessa responded, surprising the searat. "I said only that your party must vacate these premises ahead of our celebration; you yourself are welcome to remain, as King Tratton's official envoy to Mossflower … although I suppose we could allow one of your guards to remain with you, since I've a feeling you'd insist on that."

"Only one, Abbess? That'd hardly do."

"Then you're perfectly welcome to wait out our feast with the rest of your rats outside until we're good and ready to allow you back in. The choice is yours. But now that you've had the chance to see Redwall a bit for yourself, I'd assume you'd realize you'll be no safer anywhere in Mossflower, with all our stalwart defenders sworn to see that no harm befalls you. A single guard is all you should need for your own peace of mind … and all we will allow."

Redclaw looked to Geoff, seated at the head of the table. "An' ye're on board with this too, Abbot?"

"Yes, Captain. We all are. We've discussed this most extensively."

"Well then." Redclaw sipped slowly at his tumbler of honeyed comfrey tea, pretending to consider these conditions, although any astute observer could have seen his mind was already made up. "Very well. Such an offer of hospitality's not t' be slapped away outta paw, is it? If you folk'd be so generous as t' invite me t' partake in yer special day, t'would be my honor t' join you fer yer festivities. Long as my senior guard Talarek 'ere gets t' stay at my side throughout it, I gladly accept!"

"Wonderful. We'll set extra places for two at our feast tables. I'm sure our Long Patrol and former slaves will be delighted for your company. And you'll be able to witness and partake in our major seasonal celebration, so you can report back to King Tratton just what one of those is like. I'm sure he'll be most jealous that you got to enjoy it, and he didn't!"

Redclaw gave Vanessa a wry grimace. "Aye, p'raps I'll leave this bit outta my account when I get back t' Terramort. Don't want 'is Majesty thinkin' I enjoyed myself _too_ much while away on Royal business!"

When breakfast concluded, all the searats were marshalled out of Great Hall onto the lawns, where they gave the woodland rat refugees a wide berth as the Abbey defenders herded them over to the main west gates. There, Redclaw and Talarek oversaw the re-arming and exiting of their fellow nautical rodents, until the last one had reluctantly filed out and the gate was firmly barred to allow no re-entry.

"There, now we've seen to that!" Vanessa said with abundant cheer, as if she'd just performed some almost-pleasant ordinary task of her daily routine. "Now, since you'll be taking the feast itself indoors, you might wish to avail yourself of the rest of the morning to wander our grounds and take in the views from our walltop. I'm sure Colonel Clewiston and Skipper Montybank and Log-a-Log and acting Forest Patrol Chief Elmwood won't mind playing escort to you, wherever you'd like to go."

Redclaw's gaze went from the encamped woodland rats over by the orchard, glowering across the lawns at him as one body, and then to all the Brothers and Sisters and Abbey helpers busy setting up tables and benches for the outdoor portion of the Nameday celebration. "Wherever, Abbess? Looks like there's big patches o' this place we'd not be welcome, or only get in th' way."

"Well, yes, there is that."

The Abbess made her amiable excuse and pattered off to tend to business elsewhere, leaving the two searats in the good graces of the four Abbey defenders. "So, where'd you saltbottoms like t' go?" Clewiston asked of them. "Say th' bally word, an' maybe we'll take you there, an' maybe we won't."

"How hospitable o' ye." Redclaw returned his attention to the irate and suspicious woodland rats. "Might wanna spend some time talkin' t' that lot, get their views on all that's been happenin' in Mossflower this past season."

"I'd not recommend that, seabutcher," Log-a-Log warned. "They're as like t' try'n throttle you as trade words, an' I ain't sure we'd be able t' stop 'em … assumin' we're inclined t' do so or not."

"Ah. P'raps after th' feast, then, when their full bellies've mellowed 'em a bit. So how's our friend Barnaget settlin' in with 'em?"

"Wouldn't know," answered Monty. "You'd hafta ask Brother Wink - he's th' one 'round here who deals most with our rat guests, along with the Abbess 'erself."

"Ah, yes, the Abbess. She sure seems t' get around this place, don't she? Has her paw in ev'rything, is how it strikes me. Almost think she's th' one runnin' this place an' not the Abbot, an' a beast could be forgiven fer assumin' so."

"Quite," the Colonel sniffed, saying no more.

"Well, I hope ev'rybeast 'round 'ere 'members their new friend Barnaget's only free 'cos of my intervention, elsewise the Gawtrybe'd be marchin' 'im off to th' coast right now. Like t' think that'd buy me at least a liddle good will with all you folk."

"Sure it did," Log-a-Log growled. "It got you past our gates, while yer squirrel friends're still bein' kept out. That counts as special treatment in yer case - an' special treatment's 'xactly what you c'n expect from us, long as there's so much as one whisker o' yers inside Redwall. So, where'd you wanna go, Cap'n Scarlet?"

"Where do you recommend?"

"North lawns are usually pretty open and clear," Elmwood suggested. "We could start out there, then maybe make a circuit of the ramparts … "

As the party set off to follow the squirrel's suggestion, Talarek leaned in close to the rat in red, pitching his voice so as not to be overheard. "I don't care for this, Majesty. Takin' away all our arms, sendin' all but us two outside … what're we s'posed to do if they try anything?"

"It's worth the tradeoff. This entire expedition was a risk, and our time here at Redwall is no less a risk than any other part of it. But I need to see more of this Abbess of theirs. There's something about her, Talarek, which leads me to suspect she not only runs this Abbey, but may stand as the true power in central Mossflower, counterbalanced against Urthblood. I must speak with her, to verify this if I may. If I can achieve that much, then this foray into the inner lands will have justified itself."

"Er _HRM_!" Clewiston intruded into their whispered exchange. "Not polite to go hushin' about in secret right in front of your hosts an' betters, wot? An' just wot were you two conspirin' about anyway?"

"Simply remarkin' on what a fine hostess yer Abbess is," Redclaw replied, hewing close to his actual conversation with Talarek. "Really gonna hafta spend some more time with her durin' my stay here, so I c'n properly thank her fer showin' us such considerations an' politeness. Only courteous, ain't it?"

Clewiston's only reply was a half-grunted, "Hmph."

 **FOXGUARD**

"He kicked me out, Cap'n, jus' like that an' easy as y' please."

Custis stood looking Jaffox in the eye. "And why would he have done that, do you suppose?"

"Claims I was responserble fer th' death o' one o' his swordswingers."

"And were you?"

"Now I'm insulted you'd even ask such a thing, Cap'n."

"I'm sure you are." Custis heaved an exasperated sigh. They were meeting outside the north wall of Foxguard, in the valley horde encampment where Jaffox and his foxes and vixens had been banished after the last tense encounter with Tolar. Bryn listened in on this conferring between fox and squirrel, as did Joska, which really didn't surprise the Gawtrybe commander. Just as the current Sword had long had Mona as his supporter and confidant, so had Jaffox now taken this former false seer to fill that same role for himself.

"Look, Jaffox, it took me half the morning to get here from Gawdrey, and I've got a campaign to oversee - a campaign you're supposed to be helping me with, I might remind you. Being drawn away for something like this steals time from my more important duties. Isn't there any way you and Tolar could have settled this between yourselves, without involving me?"

"Our fine Sword seems t' think not. He's violatin' Lord Urthblood's orders, an' if I can't make 'im see that by myself, mebbe th' two of us t'gether can."

"And if we can't?"

"Countin' on you t' be yer usual persuasive self. Can't be expected t' run my affairs from out here, in what's basically a temp'rary vagabond camp."

"We could allers fall back to th' valley," Bryn suggested helpfully. "Got ev'rything there we need set up an' in place t' make it a base of operations."

Jaffox scowled at Bryn like the ferret was an offending bit of offal. "Why'd I wanna go back t' that hole? All th' rats in that sector've been cleared out. My work lies here, in this part o' Mossflower."

"Here - and to the south," Custis reminded the fox. "Even these nearer woods have largely been swept clean. Most of the remaining rats are well south of us now. If Tolar can't be convinced to change his mind, perhaps your squad could relocate to Gawdrey for the remainder of the season. That would put you much closer to the action in any event."

"Gawdrey? I heard that fort's built mostly up off th' ground, in th' trees. That's a squirrel place, not a place fer foxes."

"What would it matter? You'd be out in the field most of the time anyway, so it's not like you'd be bedding down there every night."

"Just one problem with that, Cap'n: Lord Urthblood assigned me to _Foxguard_. An' I'd say this present situation points out why. Our good Sword seems to've forgotten 'is place, which is to obey orders an' do whatever His Lordship tells 'im. That stuffed blackshirt's gotten it inta his head that Foxguard's his own private fiefdom, forgettin' he serves th' same master we do. My work here won't be done 'til I've reminded him of that fact."

Custis cast a sour glance toward the valley horde's encampment. "Then you're not making a very good job of it so far."

Jaffox's expression turned equally sour. "Now, don't tell me you ain't had trouble with his high-falutin' attitude yerself? Seem t' remember a liddle incident of some rats escapin' t' Redwall right under yer nose, an' him sayin' nuthin' to you when he knew about it, an' you still coulda stopped them."

Custis bristled; that incident still rankled, and the uncertainty of just how much Tolar had actually known still gnawed at him. That was the thing which had led Lord Urthblood to call Jaffox down to Mossflower, and while the orders the big fox presented upon his arrival at Foxguard had included helping Custis with his resettlement campaign, all parties involved knew the real reason Jaffox was now in Mossflower - and that reason was Tolar.

Custis sighed again. "All right, let's get this over with." He started toward the west entryway to the fox fortress, but halted after several paces upon realizing Jaffox wasn't following him. "Well?"

"I've been banished, 'member? You'll hafta bend our Sword's ear on yer own. But I've got faith you can bend it all we need - along with his will. Good luck, Cap'n!"

Many of the Gawtrybe currently stationed at Foxguard turned out to make sure their regional commander gained easy entry to the fortress, but Custis noted that for every squirrel present to greet him, a fox or weasel stood ready to match their number, both up on the wall and on the grounds beyond the tunnel portal. Clearly, Tolar was serious about keeping Jaffox out of his stronghold - a position Custis had to try to change now, if he could.

The Sword, alerted to the Gawtrybe captain's presence by his fox lookouts, struck a symbolic stance just on the other side of the entryway, barring further passage with his authority if not actual force of arms. "Welcome back to Foxguard, Captain. We did not expect to see you again so soon. How may I help you?"

"You know why I've come, Sword, and I can assure you the reason pleases me no more than you. Let us go inside, so we may talk."

"If you mean to convince me to let Jaffox back inside my home, save your breath, and go back to Gawdrey forthwith. I'm afraid you've wasted a trip."

"I'll not chalk it up as a waste just yet, and there are any number of things to discuss. But not out here."

Tolar seemed about to stand firm, then some of the rigidity left his pose, and he relented. "Very well. Upstairs, in my offices."

A short time later, fox and squirrel sat by themselves in the third-floor chamber, facing each other across the Redwall-built table. Tolar's jaw dropped in appallment as Custis started the discussion by saying, "You've got to let Jaffox back into Foxguard."

"No."

"By expelling him, you stand in direct violation of Lord Urthblood's orders."

"I don't see it that way, Captain." Tolar's demeanor had turned downright frosty in response to this outside intrusion into Foxguard affairs.

"I don't care how you see it, Sword. He was assigned to Foxguard, as your second-in-command, by direct order of His Lordship. You must reinstate him, or risk further censure and discipline. And if Lord Urthblood inflicted Jaffox upon you for your earlier transgressions, you can only imagine what the punishment might be next time."

"I committed no 'earlier transgressions' - you only accused me of doing so, and then relayed those false accusations to Lord Urthblood. That's the reason Jaffox is here. That's the reason for this mess … and the reason Sappakit is dead."

"Do not lay that upon me, Sword! I performed my duty as a faithful servant to our common cause, as I saw fit. And I am given to understand Sappakit met with a tragic and unfortunate accident. My condolences."

"Stuff your condolences. It was no accident. Jaffox murdered Sappakit."

"But you can't prove it?"

"We both know how good Jaffox is at arranging 'accidents' when it suits him, leaving bodies in his wake with no incriminating blood on his own paws."

"Still, that's a serious allegation. And if you have no evidence beyond your own suspicions, you cannot prevail. You must take Jaffox back as your second-in-command … or else I fear you may lose the command of Foxguard altogether."

"I may well hasten my own downfall if I _do_ allow him back into our midst, so if that is the threat you hold over me, I'm afraid Jaffox looms as the greater threat in my own mind." Tolar narrowed his eyes at Custis. "Or was that the secret part of his orders all along? The part you never shared with me? That he was meant to take my place right from the start, and I am powerless to prevent it?"

"I am aware of no such orders. I shared with you the totality of what Jaffox showed me. If he carries additional orders to that effect, he is keeping them a secret from me as well."

"Then for now Foxguard's mine to oversee as I deem best. I removed Jaffox from the chain of command and expelled him with full justification; if any fox in my brigade stood under such a pall of suspicion in these circumstances, I would have done the same to them, if not worse. Jaffox abrogated any orders of Urthblood's by his own behavior, and I will make no apology for my actions. I decide who is in my brigade, and who is allowed within Foxguard … and right now, neither applies to that treacherous murderer."

"Then perhaps Lord Urthblood will need to be consulted again after all." The Gawtrybe's words lay heavy as a cudgel between them, but Tolar did not respond as Custis had hoped.

"Lord Urthblood is down in Southsward, and may be for some time. I do not think he will be issuing either commendations or condemnations my way anytime soon."

"Birds can carry messages between Mossflower and Southsward."

"Then send any message you like. Jaffox stays outside Foxguard. And if he thinks to challenge me on this, I will slay him out of paw, and without a moment's hesitation."

"You are venturing onto thin ice, Sword."

"Was there anything else you wished to discuss, Captain, or was that just a ruse outside to meet with me in private so you could work on me about Jaffox?"

"There's more. Tratton has arrived."

"Yes, I know. The high watch has monitored his progress daily."

"He arrived at Grayfoot's yesterday, where Lady Mina and I had a brief word with him. He should have reached Redwall last evening. Have you perchance observed whether Sergeant Poinsett's party was allowed into the Abbey?"

"Don't you have your own squirrels watching that place day and night, who could report such a thing to you without my help?"

"Yes, but I thought you might provide me with observations which were more … timely."

"No Gawtrybe have been allowed within those walls. It appears your actions - and those of Sergeant Chetwynd and Captain Matowick himself - have earned the Gawtrybe a permanent standing ban by those good folk. You are to be commended."

"And what of Tratton?"

"He and his searats have been seen going in and out of the Abbey with no strife - at least none visible from this side of the Moss. Their entire company appeared to spend the night within Redwall, although most or all were ushered back out this morning after breakfast - most likely because we've also noted what appear to be preparations for a grand feast. At a guess, it's most probably their summer Nameday celebration … and for the first time since Foxguard's founding, my squad and I will not be attending. I think that says it all."

"Well, you would hardly have wanted to be away from Foxguard at this moment anyway, would you?"

"Precisely my point. And considering that they know about Jaffox too, thanks to their Sparra, I'm sure they weren't counting on my presence. Are we done here?"

"One last point - and the reason I happened to be at Grayfoot's when Tratton stopped in. We have seen mounting evidence that rats south of here have somehow been eluding our sweeps, in unknown numbers. A squad of ours was able to follow one such fugitive, and we tracked him to that ferret's tavern, where it appeared he was supplied with provisions to help him escape our campaign. We suspect Grayfoot has been colluding with Redwall to work against us in this area."

"You suspect? But … you can't prove it?"

Custis bristled at having his own words throw back at him in such a manner. "Just never let us find out that _you_ have been colluding in such insurgent activities yourself, Sword, or Jaffox will be the least of your problems."

"I haven't - as Captain Choock's shrews and even Jaffox himself will tell you. Scores of rats have passed through Foxguard since you left for Gaudrey, and I have done nothing to hinder their transfer to the coastlands, in accordance with the Accord."

"Nothing to hinder … but nothing to help either, I gather?"

"My foxes and I have conducted ourselves within both the letter and, I would put forth, the spirit of the mandate. I am confident Lord Urthblood could find no fault with how I have acquitted myself in this regard, even if I do not share Jaffox's enthusiasm for the operation."

"Hmm. But anyway, Grayfoot … "

"Yes? What about him?"

"If he _is_ working against us, can I count on your cooperation in bringing him to justice?"

"Me? I have nothing to do with that ferret, good or bad. His establishment lies on the other side of the Moss, far from Foxguard's immediate jurisdiction. Aside from seeing him at Nameday once a season and exchanging occasional brief pleasantries with him at those times, we may as well dwell in different lands."

"So you won't help us with Grayfoot?"

"Help how? You just indicated you have no proof against him. Am I to storm in with half my brigade and strongarm him into a confession? Seems to me that's something you Gawtrybe would be much better at doing."

"I have had my doubts about your dedication to this campaign, Sword. Which means others might see those doubts as valid too. And that puts you in a unique position to aid us now. If you want to fully regain my confidence, go to Grayfoot and confide to him that you too are helping rats escape our sweeps. Offer yourself as an ally, and see how he responds to such an overture."

"You … want me to entrap him?"

"It's not entrapment if he's guilty."

Tolar frowned at the squirrel. "If this is your price for regaining confidence in me, then yours is not any confidence I would care to earn in any event. That is my answer, and my honor … something I think _you_ could stand to learn a little more about."

Custis pounded his fists on the table, reminiscent of his confrontation with Tolar over Mykola the previous season. "Fur, Sword, you can't just - "

"Yes I can," Tolar cut Custis off with an icy tone. "Jaffox murdered Sappakit, and you are just dismissing it out of paw for the sake of the order you would care to see imposed here. Jaffox crossed a line, and it is a line I am still debating myself whether to escalate to the next level. Perhaps you seriously underestimate my passion in this matter, Captain, but I am prepared to see blood over this - and that blood will not be mine."

"That is treason, Sword."

"No, Captain. It is murder. And at Foxguard, murder does not go unpunished."

"It is not any murder you can prove. And unless or until that changes, Jaffox must be reinstated and readmitted to Foxguard. Any refusal on your part to do so must be seen as insubordination to Lord Urthblood's wishes, and dereliction of your own duty - and I _will_ make sure His Lordship knows of it."

The dangerous look never left Tolar's eyes. "And if I can prove it? That Jaffox murdered Sappakit, or had him murdered?"

"Then that would change things, and you would be freed to do what you must. But if you've not been able to discover proof of any crime so far, what makes you think you will?"

"Guilty beasts have a way of revealing themselves. If Jaffox didn't act alone in this, maybe one of his accomplices will let slip what he himself has been too guarded to reveal."

"Be that as it may, your threats of violence against him are disconcerting, and unacceptable. You say he murdered Sappakit? Show me proof, and I will grant you leeway to discipline him according to your own ways, however you deem appropriate. Until then, if I hear of any harm befalling Jaffox, I will hold you accountable, and there _will_ be repercussions, Sword."

"I will answer to Lord Urthblood on this matter. Not to you. Jaffox is not coming inside Foxguard again. And that would be my answer even if you'd brought Lady Mina along to argue your case alongside you - which I notice you haven't, so I can only assume she perhaps doesn't entirely share your views on what must be done here."

"Lady Mina is not a part of this. I saw no need to trouble her with Foxguard's internal matters, since she's already had to involve herself in your affairs this past season more than she'd prefer. I left her at Gawdrey to oversee things there until my return."

"Jaffox is not getting back into Foxguard." Before Custis and Tolar could argue further, the Sword broke gazes with the squirrel to look past him, to where the room's door had quietly opened, and a third voice entered into the conversation.

"Tolar, you must let Jaffox back in."

Surprised, Custis turned in his chair to see Mona standing at the threshold. With a mild scowl of irritation, he said, "Have you been listening in on us?"

"Only to the degree that I might better apprehend the situation, and help to salvage it - for all parties involved. And since I'm agreeing with you, I'd hardly think you'd object."

Tolar studied his mate, lips turned down in disappointment. "Mona, why would you take his side in this? Jaffox killed Sappakit. You know he did."

"Maybe he did. But as the Captain here so astutely points out, we can't prove it. Our paws are tied. If we are to find justice for what happened to Sapp, it will have to come in its own time, in its own way. Until then, better to have Jaffox and his foxes in here where we can keep a close eye on them, not outside where he can continue to conspire with his horde and we are powerless to stop him."

"He can conspire just as easily if we let him back in - _and_ he'll be better able to act on those plans too. I can't take that risk. He stays outside."

"Tolar … I know what I'm talking about. You must do this."

"I'd listen to your vixen," Custis told Tolar. "She shows better sense than you do."

"I will take it under advisement," the fox Sword replied with a tone suggesting he'd do no such thing, his eyes locked on Mona with a wordless accusation of betrayal. "Now, are we done here?"

"Yes. Yes, I think we're done. Please consider what I told you concerning Grayfoot; such a gesture of cooperation on your part would go a long way toward getting you back in Lord Urthblood's good graces, even if you don't give a squat about mine. Now I'll go tell Jaffox he can expect a decision from you shortly about his status at Foxguard. Please don't let me hear that the situation between the two of you has 'escalated,' as you put it earlier. And preferably, please try to avoid any pass which might prompt Jaffox to send for me again. My time is much better spent elsewhere."

"On that, at least, we agree," said Tolar. "You know the way out, Captain. And when you speak with Jaffox, do not presume to speak for me. My decision has not yet been made."

"I'll keep that in mind. Until we meet again, Sword … Mona … " Custis stood and took his leave, nodding almost pleasantly to the vixen as he brushed past her on the way out of the chamber. The two foxes, one sitting and one standing, regarded each other for a long time after he was gone, sharing an awkward and appraising silence.

"What was that all about, Mona?" Tolar demanded at last.

"We must let Jaffox in, Tolar. Jaffox, and Joska, and all their vixens. It's the only way."

"The only way to do _what_? Hand Foxguard over to them? Slit our own throats?"

"It wasn't our throats I had in mind."

Tolar's eyes narrowed. "Just what are you playing at, Mona?"

"My sister spoke to me last night." And with that simple statement, the vixen's eyes and face lit up like those of a famished vagabond laying eyes on her first Redwall Nameday feast. "For the first time since I thought she'd gone away and left me forever, she spoke to me. And I know it was truly her, and not just some figment of my imagination, because she told me things no mortal creature could know. She worries about me - about us - and fears for us in our current predicament. She seeks to protect me and keep me from harm, just as when she lived and always looked out for me. She watches over me still - from a very far place, where she sees and knows far more than we can. And, Tolar … she told me what we must do about Jaffox."

Tolar all but gaped at his mate. Long had he cautioned Mona against the slippery slope of her mental encounters with Sathara, from the moment she'd first confided such to him, and he'd felt great inner relief over her declaration the previous season that Sathara was forever banished from her perceptions, however much that incident had traumatized her, however much it might have spurred her to seek momentary comfort in the arms of another. Now, to hear her declare with equal certainty that not only had the deceased sibling returned, but that she now desired to share with them a way out of their present dilemma, flabbergasted him. This could not be true, could only be some quirk of Mona's subconscious touching upon her unrealized thoughts and attributing them to an outside source. Ghosts weren't real; maybe at Redwall they were, but not here at Foxguard. Thus was Tolar's first impulse to quell such talk and crush such delusion that he'd already thought dispelled from their lives once before. For Mona's sake, talk like this must not be encouraged, must be nipped in the bud and not allowed to flourish and burst forth into full-fledged madness. And yet …

If Mona had, within her own dreams, stumbled upon some solution to their Jaffox problem, whether she believed it to have originated within her own mind or from some external, phantasmagorical source, then Tolar was open to any suggestions.

"Your … sister … says Jaffox and his cronies must be allowed back inside Foxguard?"

"Yes."

"And this will somehow allow us to gain justice for Sappakit?"

Mona looked at him blankly for a dozen heartbeats, as if his words made no sense.

"No," she said at last, slowly. "Not for Sappakit - it's too late for him. Jaffox was too careful, and we'll never be able to prove he was behind Sapp's death. That's why we must give him another chance. Jaffox will try to murder again … and when he does, it will be the last murder he ever attempts."


	58. Chapter LVII

**LVII.**

 **THE MAINSTAKER**

Captain Tramble of the searat cargo ship the _Mainstaker_ wondered what he had done to draw the attention of a fleetrunner … almost as much as he wondered about the strangeness of the two vessels travelling in the company of the small spycraft.

The _Redfoam_ he could almost understand, being a typical galleon of the Fleet free to ply the sea lanes of King Tratton's realm where wind and purpose carried her, and if the fleetrunners more commonly flitted over the waves on their solitary ways, maybe this one had good reason to escort the larger warship. But as to the other, that vessel resembled nothing Tramble and his scant crew had ever seen before, a low-decked trader craft between whose widely-separated masts sat some manner of oversized war engine so unwieldy that it looked like it would make the boat even more cumbersome and difficult to maneuver than the blockish _Mainstaker_ herself. Why this mismatched convoy would be out here sailing in the rough direction of his own destination of Talaga he couldn't guess.

But then they had overtaken him, and the fleetrunner had hailed him, leaving Tramble no choice but to trim sail and drop anchor and stand ready to receive Spymaster Uroza's agent, for whatever dark purpose the Bureau rat sought to board.

That black-clad rodent now ascended the starboard ladder as Tramble and nearly his entire crew stood at the ready to greet their sinister visitor. To their collective surprise, the spyrat boarded not alone but backed up by nearly a dozen crew of his own, which surely must have constituted every rat the fleetrunner could carry. In no time at all the visitors stood arrayed before them in a wide crescent.

"Welcome aboard, Cap'n … er …"

"Tropsa," the rat in black supplied. "Of Spymaster Uroza's Agency."

"Greetin's then, Cap'n Tropsa. How c'n I help you t'day? An' what's with that funny boat out there with you an' th' _Redfoam_? Don't look like it'd stay top-side up in heavy swells."

"Do I look like I'm here t' answer yer questions?"

Tramble gulped. "Um, no, Captain Tropsa. My apologies. My crew an' all th' _Mainstaker_ 's open fer yer needs, whatever they may be."

"That's most accommodatin' of ye. But this is just a routine stop. Where're you headed, an' what's yer cargo?"

"Um … " Tramble scratched at his jaw in mild puzzlement. "Ain't you s'posed t' know that already? I thought th' Bureau kept track of ev'rything like that … "

"You testin' me, Cap'n?"

"Huh? Uh, no! No no no … "

"Good. 'Cos I'm testin' _you_ \- an' what you tell me'd better match my own information, if y' know what's good fer ye! There's been trouble on th' sea lanes o' late - rumor an' reports of uprisin' an' rebellion - an' we gotta make sure ev'ry ship's shipshape an' in order. That means inspectin' ev'ry vessel we encounter t' make sure nuthin's amiss - an' takin' swift action if we find out there is."

"Rebellion?" Tramble said with grave misgiving. His own fairly lowly station as a cargo ship captain gave him little direct interaction with Uroza's spyrats, but he'd brushed fur with a few of them over the seasons, enough to realize that something about this Tropsa seemed off. Then again, if the Empire truly lay in the grip of some crisis, or even the suggestion of a crisis, that might explain why this spyrat acted somewhat atypically, less concerned than usual with his cool demeanor or cold diction, less refined in speech and manner and coming across more as … well, as an ordinary searat dressed in a borrowed Bureau uniform. It would also account for why Tropsa had boarded with an armed party. "What kinda rebellion?"

Tropsa narrowed his eyes and leaned forward confidentially. " _Slave_ rebellion."

Tramble positively paled. "S-sir, none o' my slaves 're any part o' this, I assure you! We keep 'em in line an' properly watched at all times! They're no part of any troubles, that I c'n guarantee you!"

Tropsa's scrutinizing gaze grew more intent. "So, y' got slaves aboard?"

Tramble nodded. "Aye, a hold full of 'em, all of th' woodland sort, bound fer Talaga, all accordin' to orders. But, you hadta know all that already, didn't ya?"

The spyrat seemed to need a few moments to catch up to this revelation. "Course I did. Just testin' you, 'member? I'll wanna inspect 'em all, o' course, just t' satisfy m'self. Make sure Urthblood ain't sneaked any spies or assassins in 'mongst that rabble, or anybeast else who's like t' cause trouble. We got ways o' ferretin' 'em out, y' know. Now, what else're you haulin' along with yer slaves? Weapons? Stormpowder? Food an' drink?" Tropsa's eyes almost sparkled in anticipation at the mention of this last item.

"Um, no weapons stores, just our pers'nal arms we carry on us. No stormpowder neither, o' course, since we ain't a military ship, strictly speakin'. As fer provisions, just enuff t' get us an' our prisoners to Talaga, with a liddle extra fer emergencies. But you c'n be sure our hold'll be filled when we head back out again after droppin' off our slaves! Got deliveries to make on Baro, an' Desta, an' Sampetra too."

Tropsa's face fell at this confirmation of what he'd already feared, and suspected. "So that's it then? Just yer slaves, an' nuthin' more?"

"More or less, Cap'n sir. You know th' sayin': cargo ships pull inta Talaga Harbor empty, an' leave full, t' feed the rest of the Empire! Except fer th' fish - they come mostly from Desta, tho' those fisherrats need their fruits an' veggertables too, which is what I'll be droppin' off fer 'em there when I swing by. Got my manifests an' itin'ry all written up an' in order, case you wanna look it over, which I'm sure you will. You'll find naught outta sorts aboard the ol' _Mainstaker_ , nay ye won't!"

"Yer assurances fill me with conferdence. So, 's this yer entire crew y' got gathered 'ere?"

"Oh, aye … "

"Splendid." Tropsa's paw, already resting on his sword, tightened around his hilt as he started to slide the blade out of its scabbard.

" … 'cept fer chef an' his helper, who're gettin' prepared fer … hey, what're y' doin'?"

Tropsa froze halfway through drawing his weapon at the news other crewrats were still elsewhere on the _Mainstaker_. Then he grinned wickedly and drew his sword completely free from its sheath. "Guess it's their lucky day then," he hissed, driving his blade into Tramble's chest as the cargo captain could only stand by in helpless disbelief.

All of Tropsa's companions raised their loaded crossbows, took aim and pulled their triggers … and moments later the only rats left standing on the deck of the _Mainstaker_ were the _Redfoam_ 's rebels.

"Looks like Sampetra an' Baro and' Desta won't be gettin' their food deliveries after all," Tropsa chuckled as he stood over the dead and dying. "Too bad we couldn'ta caught you when you were headed away from Talaga fully loaded 'stead on yer way in. Caruth, Sitrullah, take a few o' the others an' head down below t' make sure those two cookrats really are the only two o' th' crew left alive. See any other searats out an' about, slay 'em good 'n' quick!"

"An' what o' th' cookrats themselves? Slay 'em too?"

"Naw - ever since we slew th' _Redfoam_ 's cook, we ain't had a decent one 'mongst us. Take 'em alive if y' can."

"Aye, sir!"

As the scoutrats descended to take care of matters belowdecks, Tropsa regarded his victims scattered before him, then glanced over the ship's railing toward the _Redfoam_ and _Goodwill_. "Guess you ain't the only one 'round here who can capture us a ship, are ya, Cords?"

Once the all-clear signal was flashed, the _Redfoam_ came around to moor herself to the _Mainstaker_ while Ramjohn stood off on his converted trader vessel, ready to put an oversized, stormpowder-tipped harpoon in the newly seized ship at the first sign of treachery. Cordato crossed from his galleon to the cargo craft to take Tropsa's report and appraise the situation for himself.

"Hmm - y' seem to've done well, Tropps," he grudgingly conceded. "We got us another ship … which means we'll need us another cap'n, too. Feel like tradin' up to a bigger command fer yerself?"

"Tradin' up?" Tropsa made a face as he looked around the top of the _Mainstaker_. "This bucket might be bigger'n my spyship, but it'd hardly be a move up, would it? 'Sides, this spare black uniform I found aboard 'er fits me so well, I'd be loathe t' give it up now!"

"Well, don't get too cocky there, matey. You may be dressed like one o' Uroza's agents, but that don't mean you are one."

"I passed fer one well enuff t' fool this bunch - an' I bet I could do it again, with any other ships o' th' Fleet we come across't. Ev'ry rat in the Empire, from cap'ns on down, knows not t' say 'boo' when one o' Uroza's rats in black comes knockin'."

"Diff'rence 'tween a lowly cargo barge an' one o' Tratton's veteran battle cap'ns. I'd not favor yer chances of pullin' off that kinda masquerade with th' skipper of any dreadnaught or frigate … or on Talaga itself, once we get there. Only reason we hadta try this gambit this time was 'cos they spotted us 'fore we could do aught about it, an' overtakin' 'em was our only chance o' keepin' their silence. Good thing all three o' our ships were faster'n this tub."

"Which brings up a good point," Tropsa said. "Will she slow us down too much? We gotta get to Talaga 'fore our food 'n' drink runs out, an' it'll be a close thing as it is, under th' clip we'd struck. 'Fore I kill't 'im, cap'n here said he t'weren't carryin' much in th' way of reserve provisherns, sumpthin' I wager our inspection'll bear out. Addin' her to our convoy might delay us more'n we can afford. Mebbe we should just leave 'er behind."

"An empty ship with a slain crew found floatin' adrift would tell a story all her own."

"Scuttle 'er then. Use one o' our spare powderkegs t' blast a hole in her hull below th' waterline, or let Cap'n Mousy take a practice shot at 'er, give our superweapon another test against a floatin' target."

"Can't waste those ship-sinkin' spears on an empty boat - we only got a few of 'em, an' might need ev'ry one if we encounter a ship we actually gotta fight. Mebbe a powder keg … but before we do anything, I wanna take better stock o' what we got here, in th' way o' rats an' food. Then we'll decide."

Tropsa scowled. "An' if an actual warship comes along while we're lollygaggin' here?"

Cordato grinned. "Well, then I guess we'll get t' see just how well you c'n play spyrat after all!"

"An' if that don't work?"

Cordato pointed out to the _Goodwill_. "Why, then we'll just hafta sink 'er, won't we? Hope you'll be able t' get yerself off in time!"

Shortly thereafter, with the lower decks scouted and cleared out to the rebels' satisfaction, Cordato and Tropsa came to stand before the chained oarslaves in the _Mainstaker_ 's port rowing galley. The two captains of the insurgency wrinkled their snouts in distaste, reliving the sordid memories of the miserable existence they'd left behind not too long ago themselves. "Ugh," Tropsa grunted. "Thought I'd left this kind o' stench an' filth in me past."

"We're commanders of a revolt now, Tropps. Means we gotta roll up our sleeves an' do some dirty work when it needs doin'. Ain't like we didn't endure far worse down in th' bowels of th' _Redfoam_ fer all those seasons we were chained up ourselves. Lattie got us all free an' got us t' where we are now, so it's only right we do th' same fer these wretches who're suff'rin' same as we were."

Tropsa snorted as he regarded the oarslaves staring back at him with trembling apprehension in the dim, dark galley. "Yeah … if any o' this bunch'll prove th' worth of one beaker o' grog to us."

"That's what we gotta find out, ain't it?" Cordato stepped forward to address the slaves. "Right, lissen up, all o' ye! This ship's just been liberated, an' most of 'er crew an' cap'n slain! None o' you are slaves any more. Now, are there any searats 'mongst you?"

Only disbelieving silence met his inquiry.

"Well? Wildcats got yer tongues, or what? Speak up! Are there any searats chained down here 'mongst ye?"

At last a male on a forward bench bravely ventured, "Why'd there be searats down 'ere with us pris'ners?"

"Yeah," added a female from the row behind him, "an' ain't you searats yerselves? How could you be liberatin' us from yer own kind?"

"Guess that's a no then," Cordato sourly concluded aloud. "Lissen up, an' lissen good. Not all ourslaves in Tratton's Empire're woodlanders. Lotsa searats fall outta favor with their commanders or the King 'imself, an' those that ain't slain end up in dungeons or in galleys like this 'un. We came from a vessel where woodlanders an' searats were chained up t'gether t' serve under th' oarmaster's lash - that's why I was askin', y' numbskulls. But we cast off our chains an' overthrew our own cap'n an' crew, an' took over our ship th' _Redfoam_ all fer our own! Now we roam th' seas free as we please, sinkin' any ships that get in our way an' capturin' a few of 'em too. That's what happened to yer own _Mainstaker_ : it ain't a ship o' Tratton's Fleet no more, an' you ain't 'is slaves neither. So you jus' sit tight a bit longer, an' we'll have you freed from yer shackles 'fore another day's gone."

A third slave timorously put forth, "There's more o' us. We ain't all there is."

"Yah yah, I know there's a starboard bank o' rowers too. I ain't dense."

"That's not what he meant," the first slave clarified. "We ain't jus' this boat's rowers; we're its cargo too. There's at least as many more o' us locked away in th' holds as there are on these oars, an' they may be in worse shape than we are, since they weren't needed fer rowin' so they weren't fed or looked after as good as we were … not that we had it good. Mostly young 'uns an' oldsters, too small or too weak t' pull these oar handles."

"I know what that's like," Cordato acknowledged dourly, reflecting on how their own savior was marked for being pitched overboard from the _Redfoam_ , considered too scrawny to pull her weight.

"So you'll get us all out?" the first oarsrat pressed.

"Aye. Ye'll all be freed, an' looked after as best we can. Y' got my word on that."

Tropsa leaned in to whisper at Cordato, "But by that countin', there must be near a hunnerd of 'em, an' half of no use to us t'all! This's a burden, not a boon! Ship that's too slow an' totally unarmed, an' all-woodlander crew that'll be useless in any skirmish … I say we sink th' whole lot of 'em, an' be on our way!"

Cordato gave his fellow captain an acid look. "Ye're lettin' that black uniform o' yers go to yer head a bit too much, methinks. We ain't part o' Tratton's navy no more - an' we ain't committin' mass slaughter on innocents like he woulda. Who's t' say there ain't another Lattie 'mongst this lot, or one who could help us almost as much?"

Tropsa scoffed at this suggestion. "Prob'ly ain't never been another Lattie anywhere on sea or land. But what if there's any o' Uroza's spies mixed in with 'em as well, maskeradin' as woodlanders? Lettin' even one of those silent killers free could cause us a world o' grief."

Cordato responded with a knowing grin. "That's why, 'fore even one o' these oarslaves is let free, we'll be bringin' Lattie down to inspect 'em pers'nally, one-on-one an' face-t'-face, t' make sure no more o' her 'darkrats' 're hidin' 'mongst 'em. If she finds any, we'll slay 'em good an' proper, jus' like before. Might only be one Lattie in all th' world, like you say - but we got 'er, an' she 'n' her talents're all ours!"

A second all-clear was given, summoning the _Goodwill_ forward to join the other three vessels at anchor. As _Fleetrunner Eleven_ , the _Mainstaker_ , the _Redfoam_ and the _Goodwill_ lay tied up together side-by-side on the gentle swells, Latura and Potdar and a few armed escorts descended into the rowing galley and slave hold for the prophetic ratmaid to inspect the prisoners for any of her "darkrats" hidden within their ranks. Meanwhile, the three captains held an impromptu council on the top deck of their newly-captured ship.

"Sumpthin' 'bout this whole thing don't make sense," Cordato began. "A whole cargo ship, bearin' naught but slaves to Talaga? That isle's a haven fer officers' families, an' given how Tratton feels about slaves, they ain't never been allowed on Talaga, outta fear they could stage a revolt just like ours, an' hold hostage some o' the most valued lives in the Empire. So what's changed?'

Ramjohn glanced between the two searats. "Do you think it could be a trap?"

Cordato shook his head. "Don't see how. Even if other ships've picked up any survivors from our previous battles, they'd not have had time to spread th' word so fast. They couldn't even know our headin' fer sure, much less set up a trap an' put it in our path. 'Sides, this bucket was to our west an' headin' away from us, in the opposite direction from where we seized th' shipkiller - "

"The _Goodwill_ ," Ramjohn interjected. "My ship's named the _Goodwill_."

"Yah, right." Cordato eyed the modified trader vessel riding at anchor alongside them. "Whatever will that ship's carryin' these days, it ain't good, least not fer any ships we're likely to encounter out this way. But no, I don't think this's any kinda trap. Question now is, whadda we do about alla this?"

"What do you mean?" asked the mouse. "We got us another ship, an' that makes four. This can only make us stronger, an' bolster our numbers."

"Ain't all ships equal," Tropsa weighed in. "Or all rats neither. An' if those down below were speakin' true an' Lattie turns up no spies 'mongst 'em, then they're all woodland rats, taken from the lands by Urthblood's campaigns … which might reassure a mouse like yerself, but we're at sea now, an' takin' on scores more bodies without a tick o' nautical experience between 'em an' mebbe no fightin' skill neither, well, that'll not be doin' ourselves any favors. An' then there's th' ship 'erself - slow, clunky, unarmed, with no battle use whatsoever, 'cept mebbe as a shield fer th' rest of us t' hide behind. Plus, we ain't even got a captain t' pilot her. I say we leave 'er behind, sink 'er if we gotta, an' don't weigh ourselves down with her or her worthless rat cargo."

Ramjohn glared at Tropsa. "We're not going to commit mass murder. Those woodland rats are blameless, an' none asked to be where they are. We're rescuing them, just like we rescued those aboard the target ship … just like you rescued _me_."

"So what're we s'posed t' do with 'em?" Tropsa challenged.

"We're still a little shortpawed on th' _Redfoam_ ," Cordato said, coming to Ramjohn's unexpected defense. "More'n a little, now that we've got our crew split 'tween three vessels. We'll find a place fer 'em, even if that place's back at oar handles or doin' menial labor that takes no special skill. We've already made some strides trainin' our last batch o' rescued slaves in basic seafarin' ways, an' they're startin' to pull their weight. We'll do th' same with this bunch too."

"Aye," Ramjohn seconded, "an' I could use more deckpaws on the _Goodwill_ too, 'specially since it takes about three o' you rats to equal one of the otters I was always used to workin' with. An' don't worry about trainin' - any I take under my wing'll get to know the ways of canvas an' rope right quick, you can count on that!"

"An' what of the ship 'erself?" Tropsa went on, conceding defeat on the point of the oarslaves. "Even if we offload all 'er livin' cargo an' redistribute 'em over our other three vessels - or should I say yer two, 'cos I don't want any of 'em on my fleetrunner - we still got norat t' serve as her skipper. An' that ain't even takin' inta account how she'd slow us down. We took stock o' her larders, an' she's not got enuff extra stores that'd make a diff'rence to our food situation, since what's aboard would mostly be goin' toward all th' new mouths we'd hafta feed. Takin' on this tub makes even less sense than takin' on her slaves. I say we scuttle 'er."

"Maybe we'll end up doin' just that," said Cordato. "But we'll not rush t' anything. We still gotta wait fer Lattie t' finish examinin' these slaves, an' if they all meet her approval, then we gotta get 'em all free. That'll take some time, so we c'n think on things a bit. One point t' keep in mind, tho': this slowboat was on a scheduled run to Talaga, which means her an' her passengers are expected there. Might raise some eyebrows an' suspicions if she shows up late, or not at all."

"Don't see what diff'rence that makes. We're headed to Talaga ourselves, an' we'da gotten there first anyways, so what do we care about this tub an' 'er schedule?"

"Use yer brain. We're headed _to_ Talaga, but that don't mean we'll be sailin' right inta their harbor an' tyin' up at their docks - that'd prob'ly be the quickest way t' get ourselves all killed. We're goin' there t' replenish our stores, get ourselves a season's worth of food an' drink, or mebbe even two, an' then be away 'fore any of the island's forces can be raised against us. An in-an'-out raid, that's what it's gotta be … an' if we can pull it off with no witnesses, all th' better."

"No witnesses, huh?" Tropsa chided. "An' just how're ya plannin' to manage that? Y' think Talaga's governor's gonna have what we need stashed away neat 'n' tidy in some remote warehouse where we'll be able to just go an' help ourselves?"

"If there're guards, we'll take 'em out."

"What if there's more than guards? What if th' stocks we need're stored right in the heart of some settled area, with families an' residences all 'round 'em? What if there's a whole troop o' soldiers from Fort Ballaster standin' watch over 'em? Bilgerat, what if they're _at_ Fort Ballaster? That'd make this whole trip the biggest fool's errand there's ever been!"

"Lattie says otherwise. Lattie says goin' to Talaga's gonna solve our food troubles. Who c'n say? Mebbe 'fore we get there we'll run inta another cargo ship like this one, only headed out an' fully loaded. Mebbe we'll luck inta sumpthin' else. But she'd not be guidin' us blind, or to our doom. She hasn't yet, an' I've faith she ain't now."

Ramjohn broke into their barked exchange, showing as always a lack of intimidation at being surrounded by searats. "So tell me more about this Talaga place, so I know what to expect when we get there."

Cordato answered, "It's a big isle, one o' the biggest in the Empire. Huge parts of it where you could stand an' never even guess you were on an island at all, with no glimpse of th' sea any direction you look. Split down th' middle by a mountain spine, which gives fine pleasant climes on the eastern half while leavin' the western half rocky an' barren an' ruled over by crabs an' nasty birds worse'n gulls. Naught of int'rest there, an' a place most rats would wanna avoid at peril of their lives. The east is what concerns us - busy harbor, large seaside village, an' croplands 'nuff t' feed th' whole Empire."

"Along with a fortress full of soldiers, you said. Sounds like nothing we want to tangle with. Taking naval targets by surprise, ship to ship, that we can handle, with the craft an' weapons we got, but a land engagement's not anything we're equipped to take on. So I guess that means any kind of open approach to their harbor's out of the question too."

"Aye, that it is," Cordato affirmed with a nod. "Even if word of our revolt ain't reached 'em yet, the sight of us pullin' inta their sheltered bay an' tyin' up to their pier with these three vessels - or four, if we claim this one as well - would draw the attention of ev'ry rat on Talaga, long 'fore even one of us sets claw t' dock. That kinda scrutiny we couldn't afford."

"I could allers pull in ahead o' th' rest o' ye, scope it out first," Tropsa suggested. "Gauge th' situation fer myself, mebbe pick up some useful intelligernce 'bout where th' food stocks 're stored that could help us with our raid when we're ready."

"Once again, I think ye're lettin' that new black uniform go to yer head," Cordato scolded. "What makes y' think you could pull off anything like that?"

"Scoff all y' want at these threads, but I think ye're just jealous. Ev'ry rat in Tratton's Empire respects th' black of this outfit, 'cos they're all too scared o' Uroza's spyrats. Look at how I was able t' intimerdate the cap'n an' crew o' this tub inta acceptin' my authority without question. Bet I could pull off th' same thing with Talaga's harbormaster, at least long enuff t' get us some useful infermation."

"Bet you couldn't. You fooled th' crew of an unarmed cargo hauler - an' I'll wager they had barely a lick of battle experience between th' lot of them. Doubt you'd fare as well against a seasoned warship cap'n. An' what would you do if you ran inta one o' Uroza's actshual spyrats? You know there'll be some on Talaga, with all the officers' wives an' liddle ones there - prob'ly the most well-guarded isle in the Empire in that respect - an' they'd see thru you in a heartbeat … an' then they'd stop yers from beatin' evermore. After p'raps torturin' you t' find out where you got a fleetrunner o' yer own. Then it'd be up fer alla us."

"Okay," said Ramjohn, "So any kind of open landing's off the table. So how do we do it?"

"Gotta veer off t' either north or south," Cordato proposed. "Far enuff so that we ain't spotted from Talaga, or at least not identerfied. Then we turn about an' come in at some unpopulated point where we can lay offshore fer as long as we need, while we send an armed party inland t' scope out th' croplands an' surroundin' territory. Think a couple of our current crew served on Talaga an' know it better'n th' rest of us, so we'll consult with 'em 'fore we reach that isle. Mebbe we'll get lucky an' find a silo or warehouse where it's all just sittin' waiting to be raided, or mebbe we'll hafta raid the fields themselves an' replenish our stocks right off the tree, vine an' ground, but we'll get what we need, one way or the other, or die tryin'."

"That last part's what I'm afraid of," Ramjohn weighed in. "I'm in this fight t' do some damage to Tratton, an' I'd hate for this to all end while we're making a cowardly raid just to feed our bellies."

"Nothin' cowardly 'bout doin' what ya gotta t' keep yerself alive," Tropsa admonished the mouse.

"Aye," Cordato backed up his fellow rat, "an' I'd like to see how much damage you could inflict on Tratton if ye're faint on yer feet from lack o' food 'n' water. An' speakin' o' water, that could be a bit of a trick too, 'cos even if we can find a spring or stream where nobeast'll bother us, we'll still hafta figger out a way t' get all our drinkin' barrels filled an' back on board. Could be that's sumpthin' we will end up goin' to the western half of the isle for - just 'cos it's barren don't mean we'll not be able to find fresh water there."

"An' then we're back to running," Ramjohn said in a somewhat dispirited tone.

"Runnin' … or huntin'. Either way, food 'n' drink come first."

"Which still ain't answered th' main question facin' us now," Tropsa reminded his two fellow captains, "which is do we keep this cargo barge as part of our convoy, or jettison 'er? If we keep 'er, how do we manage that, an' if we don't, how do we go about doin' it an' movin' on?"

At that moment Latura and Potdar's group emerged from belowdecks, the ratmaid wrinkling her nose from the experience. Cordato stepped over to greet her. "Whatcher find down there, Lattie? Any 'darkrats,' or any others like t' give us trouble?"

"Nope. No darkrats. They're all just woodland rats, like me 'n' Pottymouth!"

"T'aint none of 'em like you, I bet," Tropsa grumbled under his breath from behind Cordato.

"Then why're you wearin' that face?" Cordato asked her.

"'Cos it stinks down there!"

Cordato rolled his eyes. "Not like we don't know what that's like. Okay, we'll start gettin' alla them outta their chains an' free. Looks like they're comin' with us now, one way or the other. So, Lattie, do we take this boat too, add it to our fleet?"

"Well sure. Why wouldn'tcha?"

"We c'n think of about a dozen reasons 'tween us why not. What we gotta know from you is, what would it avail us? Whaddya see us gainin' if we bring 'er along?"

"Another ship. That's what y' gain. An' four's better'n three, ain't it?"

Tropsa scoffed. "Even if this waif do know ways o' th' future that're bound t' help us, don't mean she knows scat about maritime ways. Mebbe this's th' one time we ought _not_ take 'er counsel, 'cos sounds t' me like she don't know what she's goin' on about."

"Much as it pains me t' say it, I gotta agree with Tropsa, Lattie," Cordato said. "Unless you c'n tell us exactly how bringin' this ship along with us fits inta what y'see happenin' ahead fer us, what part it plays or how it helps, I'm leanin' toward movin' all 'er prisoners an' food 'n' drink over to our other craft an' just sinkin' her."

"Well, y' _could_ do that, I s'pose."

"So ye're sayin' that's what we should do?"

"Naw, ain't sayin' _that_."

"So what _are_ y' sayin'?!"

"Well … wouldn't it be better t' drag along sumpthin' y' don't need, then t' get where ye're goin' an' find out ya _do_ need it but don't got it no more?"

Cordato and Tropsa traded a long, wordless glance while Potdar and Ramjohn looked on.

"Well," Cordato said at last, "guess we're taking her."

"Aye. Guess we are."


	59. Chapter LVIII

**LVIII.**

 **REDWALL**

Nameday that season was to be as divided an affair as any ever held at Redwall … and that division extended even beyond the Abbey walls.

Not long after the searat guards escorting their erstwhile scarlet "captain" had all filed out through the main gate to join Poinsett's Gawtrybe in temporary exile, Chetwynd and two of his own squirrels emerged from the misty morning forest to approach the contingent from Salamandastron. Poinsett straightened to attention, about to salute her former superior before remembering she'd recently been promoted to sergeant herself, thus making her current rank equal to Chetwynd's … unless he had been promoted to lieutenant in the wake of Custis's own elevation in rank.

It was then that Poinsett realized just how much she still _didn't_ know about the state of affairs in Mossflower, in spite of her encounter and conversation with Custis and Lady Mina the day before.

Chetwynd seemed to notice Poinsett's aborted arm-half-raised salute, but refrained from comment. "Good morning, Sergeant," he greeted her. "I trust all is well with you?"

 _At least he's up to date with_ my _rank_ , she thought to herself. "As well as can be expected, Sergeant," she returned, leaving space for him to correct her if any correction was needed. When none came, she continued, "What news from this part of Mossflower?"

"The cordon around Redwall occupies most of my squad's time and attention. As far as we can tell, no further rats have succeeded in reaching the Abbey since the original batch who started all this trouble - in spite of some Redwallers' attempts to get them through."

"That's good … I take it. There was no loss of life in any of those attempts, was there?"

"Only rats."

"Ah. Well, that's a relief."

Chetwynd looked to the larger company behind her. "I see none of your squirrels have been allowed inside. Hardly surprising, given current tensions. What of Tratton himself? Is he … out here too?"

"You'd know if he was. That monarch's making a rather red spectacle of himself these days - at least on this march. No, he and his head guard are staying inside for the festivities. It's Nameday, you know."

"Nameday?"

"The Redwallers' seasonal celebration, for naming this summer."

"Ah, yes. Remember hearing about those while we were staying at the Abbey - seems like a lifetime ago now. Rather late, aren't they? Midsummer was quite a few days ago."

"Guess they've got a lot on their minds. Or maybe it just took them a while to come up with a name they liked."

"They had enough time to plan for it. It's not like they didn't know exactly when the new season was coming. So, um, do they know just who it is they'll be entertaining at their table this day?"

"None of my company have done anything to compromise his masquerade or expose his true identity. If he decides to reveal himself to the Redwallers while among them, that's up to him, and nothing we have any say in."

"Hm. Something to monitor, I suppose. I'm surprised he agreed to remain amongst the woodlanders with just one bodyguard. He must trust them more than I do. Do you think he might be in any danger from anybeast within the Abbey?"

"My orders were to safeguard him to the extent that I can. If he opts to venture where I cannot, he's on his own, until he emerges and rejoins the rest of our company."

"Not what I asked. If harm were to befall King Tratton anywhere along his route, we can't even begin to imagine the ramifications for the lands, or for the Accord. And if it were to happen here at Redwall of all places, it could ignite a three-way war - Terramort, Salamandastron and Redwall."

"That's assuming the searats would be in any shape to conduct a cohesive military campaign with their guiding tyrant taken down - a thought which has, I'm sure, occurred at one time or another to everybeast involved in this mad exploit. Including you, I would guess."

"I'd be lying if I denied it. But his safe passage was guaranteed by Lord Urthblood, so we are all honor-bound to take no action against him."

"Not guaranteed, actually. We vowed only that we would do all in our power to see he came to no harm. If he places himself beyond our power … " Poinsett glanced toward the high red walls, and the Abbey roofpeaks and belltower rising up beyond them. "In one sense, it might solve a great many problems if his journey were to end here, and he never set foot outside Redwall again. In another, it could unleash Hellgates upon us all."

"Then we'd best trust in the Redwallers to do what is best for all the lands, whether they learn his true identity or not. So, Captain Custis wants to know whether Tratton intends to move on to Foxguard once he leaves Redwall."

"I discussed this with Custis yesterday, at Grayfoot's. Our searat 'captain' has expressed such an interest, but has not stated a direct intent to do so."

Chetwynd paused a moment. "Jaffox is at Foxguard."

"So I was told. Wasn't he summoned down from the Northlands to help Captain Custis with his sweeps? Can't he be sent into the field if Tratton should decide to visit Foxguard? Not that they might not end up getting along famously … "

"Apparently, things there have become … complicated. There seems to be some confusion over just what level of authority Jaffox carries, and how much he is bound to follow the orders of Sword Tolar - or Captain Custis, for that matter. Or so I've heard; assigned to this side of the Moss as I am, I'm not quite fully appraised of all the nuances of the situation. I mostly communicate with Gawdrey and Foxguard these days by gull, so you may have fresher and more complete news from those sites than I do, since you met with the Captain only yesterday. My impressions is that both Custis and Tolar would prefer Tratton be steered clear of Foxguard on this tour of his, if it can be at all managed … a position I assume Custis would have already impressed upon you when you spoke face to face."

"Our searat guests stuck close to us at Grayfoot's, giving us little leeway for discussion of more sensitive topics. We had no chance to cover the issue as fully as we might have liked. I was given to understand the Captain would prefer we keep Tratton well clear of both Foxguard and Gawdrey."

"Gawdrey's a given, since the searats may not even be aware of its existence yet, and if they aren't, we'd like to keep it that way."

"Have you been there yourself?"

Chetwynd shook his head. "It was still under construction when I was assigned to my present detail, and I've not been across the Moss yet. I have heard that most of the Gawtrybe at Foxguard have relocated to Gawdrey, but until or unless I am reassigned from my present post, I will not be joining them."

"So, it does lie on the other side of the Moss? Captain Custis was somewhat cagey about that, when we discussed Gawdrey during what little opportunity we had."

"That is my understanding, Sergeant."

"Hm. As a Gawtrybe myself I would naturally wish to see it, but if you haven't even had that privilege and you've been in Mossflower for nearly a season, I suppose I have no cause for complaint. Maybe someday … " Poinsett stirred herself from her wishful reverie. "So, was there anything else, Sergeant?"

"That's basically it. Keep Tratton away from Foxguard if you can, and say nothing to him of Gawdrey; if he learns of that at all, let it be from the Redwallers and not from you. My own squirrels and I will keep a close eye on the Abbey while you're here - closer than we have been, that is - and we'll be at your beck and call should you require our aid in any way. And if we do see Tratton heading east to cross the Moss … well, if we see it, Tolar will see it as well, and our gulls will send word to Captain Custis too. Then I guess it will fall to them to decide what to do about it. Just do the best you can, Sergeant." Chetwynd turned to go, then paused. "Oh, and … I didn't want to be too obvious about correcting you earlier, but just so you know, when Custis was promoted to Captain by Lord Urthblood, he saw fit to grant me a field promotion of my own, and bumped me up to lieutenant. Just for you to keep in mind, should we cross paths again during your trek. Good luck to you, Sergeant."

Chetwynd and his companions faded back into the woods, leaving Poinsett feeling chagrined and somewhat belittled. Then again, tact had never been that squirrel's style, even by Gawtrybe standards - and if he'd wanted to be truly tactless, he could have jumped all over her the moment she first addressed him by the incorrect rank. Perhaps he appreciated the pressure and stress she would be under as a newly-promoted sergeant herself, charged with command of this unexpected expedition. And with all that responsibility weighing on her, she could hardly be blamed for such a slip in decorum.

One of the searats approached her. "'ey, what was that all about? Ain't plannin' anything, are ya?"

Poinsett regarded the rodent; with both Tratton and Talarek inside Redwall, she promptly dismissed this searat as fairly inconsequential and scarcely worth her time - and certainly no creature to be intimidated by.

"Routine Gawtrybe business, and none of your concern," she returned frostily. "I'll let you know if that changes - or rather, I'll let your King know, since he's the only one of you who rates my consideration."

"'ey, that ain't properly respectful!"

"Then lodge a complaint with King Tratton, and I'll take my dressing down from him. I'll not take any such from the likes of you. Now if you'll excuse me … "

Poinsett spun and left the searat standing there glowering after her as she rejoined her fellow Gawtrybe. If there was a pecking order here, to use a birdish term, she might now rank below Lieutenant Chetwynd, but she would sure as quivers remind those below her of their place.

00000000000

"I can't help but feel I been seated at the exiles table, Abbess marm."

Vanessa took her gaze off Redclaw to run it around the all-but-deserted Cavern Hole while the distant sounds of imminent celebration drifted down to them from above. "Well, what were you expecting, Captain? You can't feast in Great Hall - our former slaves would never stand for that - and you can't dine out on the lawns either, due to the stress that might cause our rat refugees. But Cavern Hole is nothing to complain about. We've held many a feast and celebration down here ourselves, especially in winter when it's too cold outdoors and too drafty up in Great Hall. Positively cozy down here, with the big fireplace blazing and friendly bodies all packed in together. You should feel honored you get to have it all to yourself."

"It reeks of shrews," said Talarek from alongside his master.

Vanessa half-stifled an amused snort. "A searat, complaining of other creatures reeking? How rich … and ripe."

At her own insistence, the Abbess occupied the lower gathering space alone with the two searats, over the vociferous objections of Winokur and Maura and Traveller and Clewiston - and Montybank and Elmwood and Log-a-Log as well, not to mention Geoff and Arlyn and even Lekkas and Sodexo. But too many of them would be needed elsewhere this day, and Nessa had stood adamant that she alone be left to entertain their two guests from the Searat Empire.

"In any case," she went on, "it's been some time since the Guosim last occupied Cavern Hole in force. They spent much of the spring across the Moss, and half of them remain there still. Rats and squirrels have most recently slept down here, and before them, a host of woodlander slaves freed from your own chains … perhaps you can smell their familiar scent as well, if you try."

Put in his place, Talarek held his silence even as his alert gaze never strayed from the mouse for an instant.

"As I already made clear, Abbess," Redclaw said, "slav'ry's a thing of th' past in our realm, or soon will be. We've moved beyond that, an' hope never t' go back to it. Never saw no great need fer slaves, m'self, ner trusted 'em neither. Be just as glad t' have 'em all gone."

"Hm. Interesting. You know who else I hear never trusted or needed slaves?"

"Who?"

"Tratton. Now isn't that coincidental?"

The three of them sat clustered around a fairly small table, all the larger ones having been borne up to Great Hall or out to the lawns for the main feast. This made it very easy for Redclaw to lean close to Vanessa and ask her, nose-to-nose, "You been droppin' hints an' innuendo ever since yissterday, Abbess. You got sumpthin' y' wanna just come right out an' say?"

By way of reply, Vanessa's paw shot out, impossibly fast and yet not fast at all, to flip the crimson eyepatch up to reveal a healthy and differently-colored orb staring back at her from underneath. " _Boo_!"

The two searats just sat staring at the mouse, stunned as much by her casual temerity as by her unorthodox acknowledgement of the Searat King's true identity.

"Seriously, Your Majesty, don't you find that rather annoying, having one eye covered up like that all the time? I think it would drive me as nutty as a nuthatch!"

"So, what gave me away?" Tratton asked Vanessa, not even bothering to flick his eyepatch back down.

"It seems the lands are brimming with seers these days," the Abbess said by roundabout way of explanation, adopting an almost mock-scholarly tone. "Most of them are fakes, but a surprisingly large number are not. Sharing a kindred spirit with our founding Warrior does have its advantages. I knew who you were long before you ever reached our gates."

"That is … quite an admission. And quite a claim too, attributing to yourself the same manner of prophetic sight as Urthblood himself."

"I am both more and less than that badger. I would never think to challenge you for raw power or control over land and sea. Threaten this Abbey, however, and you'll wish you were only dealing with Urthblood."

The cold steel running through this last utterance left no doubt in Tratton and Talarek's minds that the peaceful-seeming woodlander seated before them felt she could back up that promise. "You … could have found out about me some other way," Tratton ventured.

"Which would mean you have some serious leaks in your own travelling company. Would you really find that prospect any great deal more comforting than my own explanation?"

"Hmm. When you put it like - " Tratton cut himself off in mid-sentence at the approach of sandal-clad pawsteps clopping their way down to them from Great Hall, his paw darting up to flip his eyepatch back into place.

"Good reflexes there, Majesty," Vanessa teased in a playful manner as she turned to greet the Abbeymice bearing cheese and warm oat farls to their table. "Ah, thank you, Sister May, Brother Semprey. That looks and smells delicious!"

"Shall we send Droge down with a fresh pitcher of dandelion cordial?" Semprey inquired as he reached past Vanessa on her side of the table to place his plate of cheese and apple wedges before her, giving the searats as wide a berth as possible.

"Perhaps later; we're fine for now. Balla's nephew is certainly growing into a fine cellar helper, isn't he? I'd not be surprised to see him graduate to official apprentice before the season's out!"

"Er, quite, Abbess marm," said Sister May. "The tables are nearly full upstairs, and Geoff should be giving his blessing any time to formally start the feast. Do you … think you might come up for that?"

"Perhaps we will. But we'll be taking our meal down here, either way."

"What would you like brought down to you in the way of main courses?" Semprey inquired, his tone and manner hinting he'd be just as happy if this subterranean trio begged off entrees altogether on this Nameday.

"Portions of the moles' deeper'n'ever pie, of course, along with a pot of Friar Hugh's melted cheese and wild scallion fondue, if you can manage it - it's gooey and messy, but oh so tasty! I hear there's a honeyed radish souffle making its debut this season, and that certainly sounds interesting and worth a try. As for anything else, feel free to surprise us!"

"Yes, Abbess." May and Semprey withdrew, clopping their way back up the steps.

"Good thing they wear sandals," Vanessa wryly observed. "Gives us plenty of warning when they're coming down to serve us. Just imagine if our wait staff were stealthy hares or nimble squirrels! We'd never get any private talking done!" Noticing that Tratton had promptly flipped his eyepatch back up as soon as the two servermice were safely away, she quipped, "Have you considered switching your patch back and forth between eyes during your stay with us? Might be amusing to see who notices and who doesn't."

"Are you … serious, Abbess?"

"Of course not. Just being silly. I think your masquerade was a good idea; it's probably best you don't advertise your true identity any more than you have to."

"The dress-up and alias was actually Urthblood's suggestion."

"Ah. Well, still a good idea, regardless of the source."

"So, how many others in the Abbey know or have guessed my true identity?"

"Know? I'm the only one I'm aware of, and I'd like to keep it that way for a while. As to who might guess for themselves, we've got some keen wits here at Redwall, so I'd not be surprised if a few others might figure it out on their own, in time. Our Recorder, Winokur Otter, may be among those, and he'd be a good one, since I know firstpaw how skilled he is at keeping important secrets, and he'd be astounded by the idea of the most powerful Searat King ever paying us a visit. Enthralled to his ruddertip. Shouldn't be surprised if he tries to corner you your every waking moment to besiege you with questions. Knowing our Wink, he'd try to fill up an entire journal with interviews from you, for our histories - and once you've moved on, he'd actually be able to show them to his fellow Redwallers!"

"Hm. Looks like I'll be keeping my patch right where it is then. Anybeast else you deem fit to know the truth? Your Abbots, your badgers, your hares … ?"

"Certainly not the Long Patrol. They may be Redwallers these days, but they've shown a tendency this past season to sometimes act autonomously when it suits them. And after the losses they suffered at the paws of searats during their seasons at Salamandastron, I cannot be held responsible for their actions should they learn the truth. They do follow my orders - most of the time. But if this should prove one of the exceptions … " Vanessa shrugged.

"From what I have heard," Tratton ventured, "those hares of late have suffered far greater losses at Urthblood's paw than my own. Perhaps you could elaborate on that, if you'd care to?"

"I see your sources keep you well informed. Tell me, do you have actual spies of your own in Mossflower, or were you able to glean these impressions through bits and pieces overheard from travellers encountered by chance along your way?"

"Either way, Abbess, I note you are not disputing my assertion. Just what is going on between Redwall and Urthblood these days?"

"I thought we covered that well enough over dinner last night: Urthblood seeks to scour the lands of all rats, we oppose such a strategy, and have accordingly opened our home as a sanctuary for any rats who wish to escape this Purge, placing us at odds with Salamandastron's current Badger Lord. All else is just permutation and variation on that basic disagreement - and I certainly don't recall anybeast bringing up Long Patrol fatalities during last night's conversation. Nor can I imagine anybeast doing so."

"But you're not denying it happened?"

At that moment, the sound of a ringing dinner bell carried down to them from Great Hall, singing clear as crystal through the murmuring distance. "Ah, saved by the bell! Hold that thought, Majesty - or better yet, don't. It's time to head upstairs and witness what name Geoff has bestowed upon this season. High excitement, by Redwall standards!"

Tratton and Talarek felt they had little choice but to follow after the Abbess as she rose from her seat and crossed Cavern Hole to ascend the seven wide stone steps up to Great Hall. There they stopped, at the top of the short flight, drawing a mix of stares from a mix of celebrants showing a mix of reactions, none especially favorable, but all held their tongues and their seats in honor of their Abbot and the occasion.

At the long central table, Geoff stood to address the assembled Abbeybeasts and guests, his gaze briefly settling upon Vanessa and the two searats before moving on. After all, with Lekkas and Clovis and the other former slaves present, along with the families of Lord Sodexo and Deakyne and Neblett, and all the other Abbeyfolk besides, he could scarcely afford to spare undue attention to the onlooking trio who'd not even be dining up here with all the others once the feasting began.

"Well," he started, "I know this is what you've all been waiting for, so I'll keep you waiting no longer … especially since I've spotted a few of you sneaking advance nibbles from the breads and cheeses set out on your tables. And I know most of you are as eager to hear the name chosen for this season as you are to tuck into all the fine fare Friar Hugh will shortly be lavishing upon us, so … " Geoff smoothed out the recently-scribed parchment on the table in front of him, opting not to call attention to the fact that, for the first time ever, two copies of the seasonal blessing had been written out, and that even as the Abbot would be sharing his verse with the celebrants here in Great Hall, Winokur would be reciting the very same words outdoors for the benefit of Harth's rats and Truax's family, seated on the lawns at tables of their own. Clearing his throat, Geoff began.

"Friends and guests all gathered here

To celebrate with warm good cheer

Seasons change one to another

Abbot, Abbess, Sister, Brother

The springtide passed has held its share

Of strife and trials to beware

But now we look ahead once more

Here on summer's golden door

Within these walls, a peaceful haven

Safe from villain, foe, or raven

And outside, just across the road

An undertaking brave and bold

Friends from the south sit here as well

With stories of their own to tell

Also with us here today

Are those who would be torn away

From fields and forest they call home

Never more those paths to roam

Uncertainty may grip the lands

But, as always, Redwall stands

Right and strong and sure and true

Swayed not from that which we must do

So many tales weave their way

To find us gathered here this day

Every voice adds to the song

Assuring us we all belong

Join now this latest of our feasts

For the Summer of All Welcome Beasts!"

Upon this concluding line, which Geoff had clearly meant to be most dramatic, a silent hush fell over Great Hall for several moments; the blessing had run so long that most present didn't even realize the season had just been officially named until the silence stretched out for the space of many heartbeats. Only then did a smattering of pawclaps punctuate the expectant stillness, followed by a growing chorus of approval as the rest of the celebrants picked up the cue from the more astute listeners who first caught that the blessing was finished, and soon the entire chamber reverberated with cheers and applause. Geoff, looking both satisfied and relieved, took his seat once more, giving a grand flourish with his arms that this season's feast was at last underway. As the trolleys of Abbey delicacies rolled out from the kitchens to serve all the eagerly-awaiting creatures, Vanessa signalled to Tratton and Talarek that they should return to Cavern Hole, so the three turned and descended to the less grand chamber designated for their private use this day.

Resuming their places in the relative quiet of their lower dining accommodations, Tratton said to Vanessa, "So, you do this every season, Abbess?"

"More or less. We occasionally throw smaller festivals for unique and special events, but Nameday stands as our one tried-and-true, season-in and season-out celebration we can always look forward to. And it's important in historical terms for us too, allowing us to better note and record different periods and major happenings in our chronicles. You can be sure both Geoff and Winokur will be entering this season's name into their journals before they go to bed tonight!"

"Very nice. And a nice little poem he made up to go with it, even if it did run on a bit long. Really seems to sum up everything that's been going on at Redwall since last season … including a reference to that project across the road. Just what is that going to be again?"

"Again, Your Majesty? I believe you must have misspoken, since we never told you in the first place."

"I can't understand your reluctance to divulge this, Abbess. It's out in plain sight for all to see, so it will soon be obvious to all what it will be. Your reticence can only lead me to conclude it has some military or defensive purpose."

"Oh dear, you've found us out. I suppose I must come clean to you now. It will be a warehouse for our squirrels to store their strategic stockpiles of battle acorns."

Vanessa had answered in such a serious tone that Tratton didn't realize right away that she was pulling his tail. "Acorns?"

"Yes, although I believe Skipper Montybank may wish to stash some of his tactical watershrimp there too. I hope they don't make the acorns soggy - nothing's worse than soggy acorns. And if the fish taste seeps into them too, then there'll be nothing for it, I'm afraid."

Tratton let an almost-playful smile lift his lips, his patch flipped upward once more so he could study the mouse with both eyes. "Nobeast would ever dare address me so flippantly at Terramort, or anywhere else in my Empire."

"Good thing we're at Redwall then. I'd hate to be losing my head over a poor choice of words - although in your case, it wouldn't matter all that much. I'd just have a hard time getting back."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, nothing. So, just what did happen to Trelayne out in the Western Plains? I was most distressed to hear of his passing, since he was one of the few creatures in Urthblood's service we still held in high regard. I've shared his loss with only a couple of my fellow Abbey leaders, not wanting this news to spoil the mood of our festival. He gifted us with both his talents and his reasonable outlook, especially in these turbulent times, and his loss aggrieves us."

"Reasonable outlook? He struck me as possessing no such thing during our encounter. And it surprises me that such peace-loving folk as yourselves would think so highly of a weaponsmaker."

"We never got to see that side of his craft, only the artistry of his finer works. Perhaps Abbot Geoff can show you the figurine Trelayne made for him - although don't feel offended if he declines; he's had terrible luck with those miniature sculptures, and may wish to keep this latest one close to himself, since he'll never be getting another. Perhaps if you travel on to Foxguard after Redwall, you'll see the statue of Sword Machus that Trelayne created for those swordfoxes. I hear it's supposed to be magnificent. Then again, you may well have already seen such, since it's a companion piece to the first such memorial Trelayne made for Salamandastron, on the spot where Machus fell in battle."

"Yes, I have seen it - from a distance. I wasn't exactly given the full guided tour of the mountain when I was there."

"Pity. So, just how _did_ Trelayne die?"

Recognizing the intent, demanding look in Vanessa's eyes as one not to be denied, the searat said, "Just between the two of us, Abbess? He recognized me, saw through my disguise, figured out who I really was, and then tried to assassinate me. So I slew him, naturally. Entirely in self-defense, of course."

"Self-defense? When you were surrounded by Gawtrybe and your own rats sworn to protect you?" Vanessa's indicating gaze went to Talarek.

"It seems none expected such an attack from so unlikely a quarter … although in the case of the Gawtrybe, perhaps I should not say that with such certainty."

Vanessa was quick to dismiss such paranoia. "If the Gawtrybe - or Urthblood himself - wanted you dead, Your Majesty, I very much doubt you'd be sitting here now."

"Unless they wanted to make it look like an accident, or the work of one unhinged beast acting alone whom they could disavow."

"Why would they go to all that? Either way you'd be dead, and Urthblood would likely have no trouble winning any new war your fellow searats tried to start in your absence."

"Don't be too sure of that, Abbess."

"Oh? Now that sounds tellingly portentous. We'll discuss that more, and other things besides, but for now you'd best flip that eyepatch back down again, because here come May and Semprey with our main courses! I do fear that before your time here at Redwall is over, you may well incur a persistent headache from switching between seeing with one eye and with both - not to mention a sore wrist from reaching up to your patch all the time!"


	60. Chapter LIX

**LIX.**

 **TERRAMORT**

"They saved the slaves."

Tillark had much to share with Spymaster Uroza upon his return from the Doldrums, and share it he did, convening with the dark rat at the earliest possible moment. With him Tillark brought three survivors from the _Gullslayer_ plucked from the wreckage at the site of this latest disaster; unlike the apparent destruction of the _Skyburn_ , this second incident had occurred in a zone where becalmed conditions trapped the evidence, not to be borne away and scattered by wind and current. The main bulk of both _Gullslayer_ and _Oyster Princess_ may have disappeared beneath those smooth waters to rest now on the sea bottom, but what remained at the surface stayed right where it was, awaiting recovery. And thus did this far more damning transgression by the renegade _Redfoam_ yield witnesses to her crime able to tell Uroza far more than he'd known before.

And these witnesses, not assigned belowdecks as Clantor had been during the explosion of the _Skyburn_ , provided a far more complete picture of what had happened during the trial of Clucus's newest weapon - how the _Redfoam_ had already lain at anchor in the Doldrums as if expecting the miniature test fleet from Terramort … how Mortara had taken _Fleetrunner Eleven_ across to demand an answer from the captain of the out-of-place galleon … how the rebels had apparently lured her aboard to ambush her, captured her spyship and used it to carry their own assault team across to the _Seabolt_ , where they overcame Marbert's skeleton crew, took control of the converted woodlander vessel and used it to sink the _Gullslayer_ with a single shot … and then, after that, instead of fleeing the scene of this unsurpassed treachery with all speed, how they'd tarried to aid the trapped oarslaves of the capsized _Oyster Princess_ , chopping their way through the upturned hull to liberate those land wretches even as they spared no mercy to the searats thrashing and crying in the waters all around them. This last detail more than anything led Uroza to re-examine his prior assessment of the mutinous _Redfoam_ and her motives.

"They saved the slaves," Uroza repeated, rolling the idea off his tongue to give it greater substance. He and Tillark sat alone in his office, having dismissed the last witness and now digesting all the testimony they had heard this day.

"Aye, they did," Tillark said. "What do you suppose Trangle's playing at?"

"Not Trangle," Uroza corrected with absolute conviction. "Only slaves would think to rescue other slaves, as these did. I suspect Trangle is dead, along with perhaps his entire crew. After your report on the _Skyburn_ , I took this to be the case of a single captain and ship going rogue, but now I fear we face something far worse, the very thing His Majesty has feared for all the seasons of his reign: a full-scale slave uprising."

"Slaves?" Tillark repeated in disbelief. "How could slaves have done … all this?"

"Not mere slaves. Rat slaves. Rat slaves forced upon us … by Urthblood."

Tillark's eyes widened. "You think that badger's behind this? That he mixed some of his trained fighters in with the other woodland rats so that they could stage this uprising?"

"We'd assumed he might try exactly that, and thought we'd taken ample precautions to prevent such a thing. All the rats we knew to be soldiers of his forces we locked up in the dungeons of Fort Ballaster, under heavy guard night and day, and every captain and commander of the Fleet had standing orders to treat each rat surrendered from the lands as a potential infiltrator, with our own agents sprinkled amongst the slaves as added insurance. Yet somehow these rebels found a way to overcome all our contingencies and seize control of the _Redfoam_ for themselves. There can be no other explanation. This affair has Urthblood's stink all over it."

"But, even if they are Urthblood's fighters, they're still land rats. How would they know how to run a ship once they'd killed off all of Captain Trangle's crew?"

"Are you forgetting the time Urthblood spent at sea with His Majesty before King Tratton took the throne of Terramort for his own?"

Tillark quailed at this historical reminder.

"Urthblood undoubtedly picked up extensive knowledge of seafaring ways during those voyages - knowledge he no doubt shared with his own rats. The King and I have often speculated why Urthblood never started his own navy to challenge us; perhaps this is finally his back-door bid to do exactly that. But even more than this, I've been examining the _Redfoam_ 's manifests in your absence. Their own oarslaves were not all woodlanders, as it turns out."

Tillark blanched further. "Searats?"

"Yes. Enough to staff fully half their rowing galley. So, one way or the other, there were plenty of experienced seafarers aboard, qualified to handle the _Redfoam_ once Trangle and his crew were out of the way. But even so, none of this explains all they've been able to do. This was a brand new weapon of Clucus's, that ferret the only one with the knowledge to operate it … and by all accounts, as confused as those accounts are, Clucus was killed in the sinking of the _Gullslayer_ , clearly suggesting he lent no aid or instruction to the rebels. So how did they do it? How did they sink the _Gullslayer_ at the first go, hitting her powder magazine on the very first shot? This speaks to far more than nautical expertise. If I didn't already know otherwise, I might almost swear Urthblood himself was on the _Redfoam_ , engaged in direct warfare against the Fleet."

"Are we sure he's not?"

Uroza shook his head. "You yourself said you saw him disembark with his Gawtrybe in Southsward, so unless he has outfitted a badger double in matching red armor with only one paw, that's where he is, and he would not have had time to be elsewhere. But for all the crisis we face now, he might as well be aboard the _Redfoam_. Clucus slain. A galleon captured. A frigate destroyed. A fleetrunner captured. A dreadnaught destroyed. Those losses alone would constitute our greatest naval disaster since Salamandastron. But it's the capture of Clucus's _Seabolt_ which worries me most. These rebels have already proven they can sink a ship with a single shot. What further damage might we suffer before we can end this? Even as we sit here, might they have sunk other ships of the Fleet we don't know about yet?" Uroza was silent for a moment, then stated the obvious conclusion. "The _Redfoam_ \- and the _Seabolt_ \- must be hunted down and destroyed. At all costs."

"The _Redfoam_ , yes … but do we really wish to sink the _Seabolt_ rather than try to recapture her? With the loss of Clucus, we may never be able to construct another such weapon again."

"That ferret's loss represents a terrible blow to the Empire indeed, and our military capabilities. But that is a dilemma for tomorrow. This crisis is here and now. Our ships stand in danger at this very moment. Capturing the _Seabolt_ would be ideal - but these rebels may not allow us to get close enough to capture her. The threat must be eliminated, no matter what."

Tillark pursed his lips. "Getting the word out to mobilize our forces may prove challenging, with the Fleet scattered as widely as it currently is. Southsward, Salamandastron, Talaga … If only we had more fleetrunners currently in port here at Terramort."

"In this instance, I fear not even fleetrunners are swift enough to circulate this warning as quickly as we must. Which forces me to resort to the most desperate of measures." Uroza stood and moved out from behind his desk. "It is time to see whether our new winged allies are worth the cost we paid to win them to our side. I am taking _Fleetrunner Two_ for my own personal command. Before day's end, I will be leaving for Talaga."

 **CASTLE FLORET**

"Taking an interest in my castle, are we?"

Urthblood glanced up from the architectural schematics spread out before him to regard the Squirrel King. "Naturally, Your Majesty. I did no less when I first visited Redwall and offered to assist them in improving their defenses. Thorough knowledge of the structures and settings is - "

Fael cut off the badger with short-tempered bad grace. "Floret's defenses don't need any improving. And I don't recall requesting you to do any such thing." The monarch's irate gaze went to Egbert, seated alongside Urthblood at the Library table. "I'm most disappointed in you, Scholar. Sharing sensitive castle documents with an outsider - you should know better than that."

Egbert shrivelled a bit at this royal reprimand, but before the mole could voice any abashed contrition or plead for pardon, Urthblood addressed Fael. "Since when does the layout of Floret constitute a 'sensitive' matter, Your Majesty?"

"Since I say it does, badger. I've shown you enough of the castle for you to know all you need to know. Aren't you supposed to be formulating strategies against the fastdragons instead of poking your striped snout in where it doesn't belong? I hardly see how this pertains to our current dilemma."

"On the contrary, Majesty, I believe I may have discovered a vulnerability these murderous reptiles might exploit."

"Oh? Do tell - not that any force of dragons would ever be allowed to get close enough to Floret to exploit it."

Urthblood stabbed at the blueprints with his recently-unbandaged-but-still-stitched paw, indicating the lower levels. "Your schematics only go down as far as the amusement hall level, and some of the water-driven apparatuses which power the attractions. Nowhere do I see detailed charts of the underground rivers themselves - where they originate, what courses they follow, where they ultimately go … "

"Why would any of that matter? They're far underground. Nobeast can access them except from within Floret itself."

"Are you so sure of that? These lizards show a propensity for basking under the sands. What if their subterranean activities go down much further than that? So far they have proven very scarce, and difficult to locate, even by trained scouts. I have examined the blades Skipper Dawton captured from them, and the weaponscraft is most fine. Where are their forges? Where, for that matter, are their families? The otters saw only adult lizards when they clashed. Where do they breed? Where are their hatcheries?"

Urthblood had Fael's attention now. "Go on."

"Dawton told us they can run as fast as hares, and perhaps climb as well as squirrels, although the holts did not see that capability demonstrated during their battle. What if they can also swim as well as otters? What if they already have the underground rivers flowing beneath Floret mapped out, with egress points marked? What would you do if scores of battle lizards suddenly emerged from your unguarded lower levels, fighting their way up into Floret and slaughtering everybeast in their path?"

"That … that could never happen. They couldn't hold their breath long enough to make it into our interior spaces. And their claws aren't webbed, for swimming … "

"Who's to say what air pockets may exist along some of those underground watercourses, if you've never fully investigated them yourselves? And their lashing tails might propel them through the water most swiftly. We simply don't know enough about them yet, Your Majesty - and that is where I come in. I stand uniquely qualified to advise on all aspects of defensive preparedness, including avenues which might not even occur to you or your regular advisors. If you wish my help in this area, you cannot keep from me crucial information I might need in order to formulate my best counsel."

Fael snatched up the castle schematics, rolling them up and slapping them across the chest of one of his attendant guards, who caught it rather awkwardly in his own paws. "Very well. I'll have Banter Skadsley make himself available for you to pick his brain, since he knows more of the underground river system than anybeast at Floret. You can coordinate between him, Thrubble Thern and Tammion Tesque for any defensive measures you collectively deem appropriate. But the next time you want to go snooping where you shouldn't, please have the decency to ask me first, so I can tell you 'no' to your black and white face."

"I will keep that in mind, Your Majesty. Now, what word from your scouts? Have they had any luck in locating a population of the lizards suitable for our weapons testing demonstration?"

"They … may have."

"Could you please be a little more precise, Your Highness?"

"Another village was hit along our southern borders. No survivors. And it seems a patrol group of four squirrels has gone missing in that area as well."

"Squirrels? Were they armed? Did they have nets?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. But at least this latest loss lets us know the dragons are active in that area, so we may know where to look. We'll flush them out, and then you and your searat friends can each show me how good you are at killing them."

"What kind of area was it? Coastal plain, or forested?"

"They were woodlands, by all accounts. Not deep forest, but a fair amount of trees around. That's why we were so surprised the squirrel patrol was lost as well. With their nets and trees to climb, they should have been able to get the best of any lizards they came across, or at the very least have been able to retreat to bring us their report. They must have been ambushed, taken by surprise."

"Perhaps so. But I cannot share your optimism as to this latest incident pinpointing the lizards' position. It doesn't tell us where they come from, or where they went after the attack. We know from Skipper Dawton that these lizards can move very quickly, which suggests they may also be able to cover considerable distances in very little time. The fact that it took place in a wooded area rather than the sandy flatlands these reptiles seems to favor also fills me with disquiet. I fear it may be time for you to consider evacuating your southernmost territories, especially those closest to the western coast."

"Evacuate? Nonsense! What kind of message would that send? That the King of Southsward is incapable of protecting every corner of his realm? We'd have panic on our paws, panic and anarchy! And that you would even make such a suggestion suggests to _me_ that perhaps you aren't so very confident in your own ability to help me with this problem after all."

"You will see what my forces and I are capable of in good time, Your Majesty. But until then, I was thinking only of the lives which might be saved. I deem it high time that I bring in my gulls to run aerial surveillance of lower and central Southsward. They would be able to observe further incidents and relay reliable reports directly back to Floret far more quickly than any land creature, and stand a far better chance of locating these lizards' lairs from the air … where, I would point out, they would be entirely beyond the reach of our reptilian adversary to do them any harm."

"Unless our dragons have ranged weapons they've not shown us yet."

"All evidence so far suggests they display a marauder mentality, and we have seen no signs of spear, bow or sling use by them, only blades, along with their own natural weaponry of claw, tooth and tail. Furthermore, they would have no reason to believe - at least at first - that the birds circling unheeded overhead are even in my employ, and thus would go to no effort to hide their presence or activities from my eyes in the sky. This arrangement could only benefit us."

"Hm. Not sure how I feel about having your warriorbirds swarming our clear blue skies. I'll have to consider carefully whether I can allow such a thing."

"They may prove essential, Your Majesty, not only for observation and communication but also for the demonstration itself that I have in mind, now that the feasibility of my lens-and-mirror weapon has proven untenable."

"And what, exactly, do you have in mind, Lord?"

"A way to kill your dragons for you, of course. Assuming they can be found."

"And if I graciously grant you this leeway?"

"Say the word, Majesty, and I will proceed to the castle roof this moment to dispatch Captain Klystra and set everything in motion."

"Oh, I'm afraid that won't be possible. We ate that big feathered terror of yours; he simply didn't fit in at Floret, scaring all the peacocks and little ones and clashing with our colors. Enjoyed him last night for dinner, with a honey glaze. He was most succulent."

"I do sometimes find your humor in poor taste, Your Majesty - although not as poor as you would find the taste of raptor flesh to be. But I will at least take your levity in this instance as tacit approval of my proposed course of action. I already have a draft of my dispatch to Salamandastron prepared, and upon reflection and consideration have determined it warrants no further revising, so it is ready to send as it is."

"Oh perfect. And I will of course be reading it myself to make certain it meets with my Royal approval before your flying frightener bears it anywhere, just as I did with the searats' dispatch before it was sent downriver to their waiting ships. Daresn't have either of you plotting things behind my back and under my nose, hm?"

"As you say, Your Majesty. I have nothing to hide, although I can speak only for myself in this regard. Has there been any reply from Viceroy Korba's support forces as yet?"

"Oh, that's right. You two don't talk to each other these days, do you? Or should I say, he goes out of his way to avoid you, which I can fully understand - and which I have been only too happy to help accommodate him in doing. The whole point, after all, is to have the two of you competing to see who can provide a better solution to our fastdragon problem, so it would hardly be fair if he allowed you to pick his brain to gain unfair insight into what he plans."

"I might have guessed you would encourage such internecine maneuvering between us, for the entertainment value if nothing else. But I suspect he would have far more to pick from my brain than I from his."

Fael gave a derisive snort of laughter. "When was the last time anybeast picked _your_ brain, my good and proper sorcerer?"

"It does not matter. I can guess well enough what he plans, since his options are as limited as his choice of weaponry. And while he can call on forces far closer to paw than my own, those forces consist of a mere two ships out of Tratton's navy, while I can have flown down to me whatever I require, in whatever quantity, from anywhere in Mossflower, Salamandastron or the Northlands. This should grant me some advantage over my searat competitors, even if it might take me somewhat longer to put in place all the pieces I need to prove my superiority in providing what Southsward needs."

Fael smirked. "Well, just don't take _too_ much longer, badger. Our dragons won't wait forever, and at the rate they're killing my subjects, I'd hate for all of lower Southsward to be depleted before you can show us how worthy you are!"

 **FOXGUARD**

"So, looks like I owe you a favor, vix."

Mona looked up from her surgery table where she'd been pretending to study a mole's skull, and wrinkled her snout in distaste. "You don't owe me anything, Jaffox. The idea of having you indebted to me is almost as bad as me being indebted to you. And don't call me 'vix.'"

The big Northlander leaned almost salaciously against the doorframe of the chamber, half in the room and half in the hallway beyond. "Why'd you change yer mind? Custis told me t'was you who argued to Tolar fer lettin' me back in, an' I've no doubt yer opinion carried more weight with our good Sword than anything the squirrel coulda said. Which leaves me wond'rin' why you'd champion me over yer own mate an' longtime commander. What's yer game, sweetmuzzle?"

"No game. You can cause us a little trouble; Custis and his Gawtrybe can cause us a lot more. You'll be out of our fur eventually, presumably, and then we can shake you off like a bad dream. Custis has Gawdrey, so he's tied down to Mossflower and won't be going anywhere, at least not for a few seasons. I was simply weighing out the various bad options open to us, and chose the one likely to cause us the least headache and heartache. Besides which, we still can't prove you had Sappakit killed, and without any hard evidence to that effect, we had no grounds for keeping you out."

"Ye're still blamin' me fer that clumsy oaf's tumble off a raft when he was drunk? Now that just wounds me."

Mona narrowed her gaze at the brash dogfox. "Don't push your luck, Jaffox. Sappakit was a dear friend of mine. And you had him murdered, or may even have done the deed yourself. You know it, I know it, Tolar knows it, Custis knows it - even if he won't admit it, not even to himself - and you're not fooling anybeast with your transparent protests of innocence. And if I were you, I'd not breathe easily just yet. Tolar and I are still looking for clues, and if we come up with anything incriminating, you'll have a lot more to worry about than just getting thrown out of Foxguard again."

Jaffox's smirk turned into something more sinister. "You know I don't respond well t' threats, m' dear. An' you 'n' Tolar surely had Sappakit's lady love in the interrogation chair long 'nuff fer her to've had a confession drawn outta her, if she'd had aught to confess. Not t' mention your examination of the body, an' all your swordfoxes Tolar had goin' over th' scene of the so-called crime with their snouts to th' ground, tryin' t' scare up sumpthin' against me. Guess none o' you could, couldja? So you keep on lookin' if you like wastin' yer time that way. Me, I got a fortress t' help run - whether yer precious Sword wants my help in runnin' it or not."

"Oh, we'll keep on looking, you can be sure of that. Maybe put some more of your vixens in the interrogation chair, as you put it; just because none have cracked yet doesn't mean one still won't. But even if we can't pin Sappakit's murder on you, don't think for a moment that you'll have a free paw around here. We know what you're capable of, and if we even suspect you're plotting some other murderous scheme, that will be all for you."

"What'd I tell ya 'bout threats, vixen? But you've naught t' worry 'bout; like you said yerself, I'll be movin' on from here sooner or later t' help our treejumpers with their sweeps in lower Mossflower, so I'll just bide my time here best I can until I'm on my way." Jaffox dropped his gaze to the mole skull on the examination table. "So, who's yer friend there?"

"I call him Sebastian."

Jaffox stared at Mona, for all his life unable to tell whether the vixen had just cracked a joke. She returned his glare with a bloodless, unflinching one of her own. The dogfox grinned again, refusing to allow the unsettling healer to get to him. "Well, that's just quaint. An' speakin' of yer friends, I still ain't got a key to yer glassmaker tod's workshop in th' middle o' this place."

"And you won't be getting one."

"What's 'ee doin' in there?"

"Blowing glass, I imagine. That's what he does. And you make him nervous. Is it any wonder he locks and bolts the door against your brutish intrusions?"

"Y' know, I could bring down some o' my squad with axes an' chop our way inta his space. Don't like doors bein' closed to me."

"Destroying Foxguard property? That would be a sure way to get yourself thrown right back out of here on your tail again, and I'm sure Tolar would jump at the chance. And I would be right there at his side, cheering him on."

"Now, we'd hate to hafta call Custis back here a second time, after 'ee only just got me readmitted. That'd not make him happy, I imagine. Not one bit."

"Jaffox. Go away. Just go away."

"As you wish, my dear. See you up topside, when ye're not pokin' 'round with all yer potions an' skulls." With one last smarmy and superior grin, the imposing fox turned and sauntered off down the curved hall.

Mona regarded the mole skull of "Sebastian" in her paws. "Well," she murmured, just above a whisper, "let's see how well _that_ went."

Around the bend of the corridor, in front of the recently-cleared dungeon cells, Jaffox found Joska waiting for him. "Well, what'd you get outta her? Why'd she help us get back into Foxguard?"

Glancing both ways, Jaffox ushered his vixen coconspirator into the open cell where they would be less likely to be overheard in case any hidden beast sought to eavesdrop on them. Even so, he dropped his voice to a murmur unwittingly matching that of Mona's as she communed with her skull down the corridor. "They're plottin' somethin'. I can sense it. Dunno what, but they let us back inside fer a reason."

"What?! They can't do that!"

Thankful that Joska had at least voiced her surprised umbrage in the same low tone he'd established, Jaffox answered with a hint of bemused sarcasm, "What, you thought we were the only ones 'round here who could scheme an' conspire?"

"If you mean it the way we do it, then yes. They could never sink to our level. Tolar is far too straight-laced and buttoned-up to ever let his mind run toward treachery. That fox plays by the rules to the point that it binds his paws - isn't that what you're always telling me? Isn't that what's allowed us to play this whole thing the way we have?"

"Mebbe. Or mebbe losin' his former second-in-command's got him runnin' scared, jus' like I said it would. Mebbe it's makin' him desperate - which could also make him careless. But even if he's still th' straight-arrow, play-by-the-rules fox he's allers been, same can't be said fer our sweet Mona. She may seem innocent an' guileless most o' the time, but she's ev'ry bit as much a vixen as you are, an' if either of 'em between the two of 'em could be hatchin' somethin' against us, it'd be her."

"Well, what could they be planning? An' why haven't they sprung it on us already?"

"Dunno. Get th' feelin' they ain't gonna let the business with Sappakit rest just yet. Mebbe they got some evidence they ain't confronted us with, holdin' it back until they're positive there's no wiggle room fer us to get outta it, or mebbe they're convinced they'll be able t' dig some up. Mebbe they mean t' grill you an' Vermilya more, try'n squeeze a confession outta one o' you. Hard t' tell. But one thing I'm sure of is that Tolar didn't open his home to us just 'cuz Custis told 'im to, or because his vixen was worried 'bout trouble with th' Gawtrybe. There's more to it than that - an' we gotta figger out what it is."

Joska chewed at her lower lip. "Then maybe it's time we were both gone from this place. That squirrel captain seemed to want you back out in the field, helping him round up the rats south of here. You could take him up on that, an' I could go with you, and that would get us far from here before they could spring anything on us."

Jaffox regarded Joska. "Thought the only reason you hitched yerself to me in th' first place was 'cuz of my promise t' make you top vixen at Foxguard. Why so quick to give up on that, my dear?"

"Because this game's taken a turn, an' now it could just as easily end with us dead as them."

"That's allers th' way it was - an' this ain't no game."

"Then why're you playing it like one?"

"Explained to you enuff times how it works, an' how we gotta approach it. The Gawtrybe're still on our side - we even got their cap'n runnin' up here t' strongarm Tolar inta lettin' us back in - so in that sense it's all still fallin' inta place like I thought it would. We just gotta be extra careful now that we're gettin' down to the end."

"It had better be the end, for both our sakes. Because if we're backed into a corner, we're left with just two options: leaving while we still have our heads … or striking first."

"Oh, it won't be long now. The top fox Tolar was countin' on to support him is dead - which means th' top fox who coulda best rallied all th' swordfoxes against us if anything should happen to Tolar is also no concern of ours. We just gotta stay on our toes, keep our eyes an' ears open, an' look fer our opening when it presents itself. Long as we keep our heads, we'll keep our heads … but Tolar an' his dainty liddle mate might not be keepin' theirs!"


	61. Chapter LX

**LX.**

 **REDWALL**

In spite of everything, Winokur's heart was beaming as much as the smile on his face.

Two distinct - and, sadly, separate - groups within Redwall enjoyed their first-ever Nameday celebration this day. And while the otter Recorder could not say how the recently-arrived slaves from the Searat Empire viewed their half of the festival in Great Hall, he was quite content to satisfy himself with his self-appointed charge of presiding over the ceremonies out here on the lawns, in the company of only rats. Even some of the servers who carried the various food and drink out to their tables were rats, the pawful of willing helpers Friar Hugh had grudgingly accepted into his kitchens as part of the efforts to more fully assimilate the rodent refugees into Abbey life. Far from expressing disappointment over being pressed into service while all their fellow rats got to sit and be served, they relished their duties with contagious enthusiasm, humbled and gratified to be part of something so much bigger than they were, something that for the first time in their memories did not revolve around horde life.

In spite of the relaxed cheer Winokur sought to inject into the occasion, a somber wistfulness hung over this assemblage out on the grounds, and not only due to the predicament of their forced sheltering within the Abbey walls. At Patreese and Castor's insistence, a symbolic seat at the central table had been kept vacant, honoring where Latura would be seated had she been present to share in the festivities. No such empty place was set aside for Palter, but perhaps in his stead his seat had been yielded to the just-arrived Barnaget, a living reminder of the free rats who were still to be found abroad in Mossflower, and who might still stand a chance, however slim and by whatever improbable means, of reaching the safety of Redwall and escaping the scourge of Urthblood's Purge. The solitary escapee seemed as overwhelmed by this recognition as by his initial arrival at the Abbey in the presence of searats and Gawtrybe after so narrowly escaping capture and deportation from his home forestlands. For the most part Barnaget contented himself with passively sitting and accepting this attention directed his way, answering in simple terms any questions asked of him about a deliverance the other rats regarded as remarkable as he did.

As Geoff had within Great Hall, Winokur kicked off this outdoor faction of the Nameday observances with the recital of the seasonal blessing and official naming of this summer, reading from his own paw-scripted copy of the verse the Abbot had composed for the occasion - the first time in Redwall's history that a Nameday blessing had to be given in two separate locations to two different audiences. Yet in spite of the pointed disparity this necessity underscored, and the initial solemn atmosphere with which the feast commenced, it didn't take long for the famous Redwall hospitality to work its magic even as the majority of the Abbey's woodlander population shunned the rats in their midst.

The day's perfect weather - clear blue skies and sunshine to warm the fur, tempered by just enough of a refreshing breeze to comfortably counter the baking rays - soon combined with the exceptional food and drink to lift spirits and remind the rats just how much they truly had to be thankful for. After most of the actual feasting was done, some even broke out into song, the tunes jaunty and cheerful even if the words made Winokur glad none of the Abbeybeasts were on paw to hear them. The clapping and stomping and good-natured if off-key vocalizing mostly dispelled the earlier pensiveness, and soon many of the youngrats were up from the tables and engaged in carefree games and chases all across the lawns and through the orchard as their parents and guardians looked on.

The prevailing lighthearted mood was only bolstered further when some of the Redwallers trickled out from Great Hall to share their good cheer with their rat guests. At their head was Metellus, checking to see that none of the refugee rodents had overindulged to the point of distress - and, finding that more than a few had done just that, quickly dispensing calming tonics to settle stomachs and get his erstwhile patients feeling back in sorts in no time at all. With him came his cousins Sodexo and Bostany and the badgerwife Hekko, the quartet of burly, striped-furred beasts going among the rats with a casual ease that comforted all. Then came Smallert, the one-eared weasel a popular figure with the rats due to both his easygoing manner and his mere presence, which showed how even so-called vermin species could find a place at Redwall. Tagging along with Smallert was his closest Abbey champion Cyril, and tagging along with him was his now inseparable romantic interest Jiriel, who looked more and more each day as if she was destined never to return south with her family when they at last departed from Redwall … and that family, too, turned out onto the lawns to trade pleasantries with the rats, if in a somewhat more forced and less assured manner than the badgers. And if Cyril was out and about, then so naturally was Cyrus, who'd elevated his own standing with the rat youths through his position as Winokur's teaching assistant The two bellringers had even of late begun working with a pair of promising ratlads who showed some knack with the bell ropes and good ears besides; they might not have been any Cyril or Cyrus, but then, who was?

Monty and some of his otters came out as well, clanking tankards of fruity fizz and mild ale with anyrat of a mind for such shared revelry, and even Colonel Clewiston set aside his Long Patrol gruff long enough to share a drink with Harth and Truax. But it wasn't until Log-a-Log and Mother Maura herded out before them the reluctant trio of Pirkko, Budsock and Droge, steering them toward the rat youngsters engaged in their play out on the lawns, that the last bridge toward Abbey unity was built.

Tristan and Drattell and a few of their siblings and friends ceased their play as this woodlander procession approached. "Lissen up, skintails!" the shrew chieftain began in his typically less-than-diplomatic manner. "My son an' his matey's 'ere got sumpthin' they wanna say to ya, so pay 'em yer heed!" Log-a-Log nudged his son in the shoulder. "Go on now, Pirkko, spit it out!"

Looking abashed, Pirkko shuffled his paws, head hung in chagrin. "Jus' wanted t' say … 'm sorry 'bout that fight that happened 'tween us last season. Shouldn'ta piled on ya like I did, an' I'll not raise fist to ya agin without reason. So there."

Maura bestowed similar prodding nudges upon Droge and Budsock. "Um, yeah," the hedgehog stammered, "I'm old enuff to've known better, an' t'was improper o' me. Won't happen agin."

"Yeah, I'm real sorry about what we did," Budsock concluded for the contrite trio. "Hope we can still be friends, an' all."

The rats looked on in puzzlement, with Tristan giving voice to their thoughts. "What're you goin' on about? You 'pologized to us already, back when it happened."

Drattell's sister Marthra added, "Yeah, we been takin' class together an' ev'rything. Why're you bringin' it up again now?"

"It's a Nameday tradition," Maura explained. "The start of each new season represents an opportunity to fully lay to rest old grievances and grudges, to ask forgiveness from those you may have wronged and for everybeast to turn the page and make a fresh start of things. And now that our formerly-misbehaving shrew, 'hog and squirrel here have knuckled up and done the right thing, the proper and expected response is for you to graciously grant them the forgiveness they have begged of you."

"Oh." Marthra looked from the adult badger and shrew to her three classmates. "'kay, I forgive ye, since we're practickly friends now an' ev'rything. Not like we ain't been gettin' along fine anyways, but if it's custom an' all … "

"Yah," Drattell added, "you just waded in when you saw yer liddle friends gettin' beat on. Most o' us woulda done th' same."

"An' we know t'wasn't you who started it," said Tristan. "T'was that ferret who threw the first punch, an' that hare who started kickin' eve'ryrat in sight … an' even they were just doin' the bidding of yer Abbess an' Martin, who wanted Lattie out o' Redwall. She was th' one behind it all."

"Yeah," Drattell put in defiantly, "long as we don't gotta forgive _her_ , 'cos I don't know if I could … "

As if aware of her standing with the rat refugees, and their youngsters in particular, Vanessa chose to conduct Tratton/Redclaw and Talarek out onto the grounds through Great Hall and then the kitchens (eliciting some curious stares from Hugh and his staff) to bring them outdoors far from Harth's celebrating rats. The two searats had expressed a desire for some fresh air after dining down in Cavern Hole, and Vanessa was more than happy to oblige - as long as it didn't upset anybeast else.

"Wouldn't want to give them indigestion after such a fine meal, would we?" the Abbess half-teased. "Now, I know you had a quick tour of the walltop this morning, but I think a more leisurely stroll up there would be in order. The views from that vantage are most impressive at any time of the year, but summer is especially spectacular, with the whole countryside green and alive. And it looks like we'll have the ramparts to ourselves, aside from the Mossflower Patrol squirrels who so selflessly volunteered to forgo the Nameday festivities so that they could maintain their constant vigilance and warn us of any trouble that might intrude upon our celebrations."

As they ascended the north wall stairs, Tratton remarked, "Yes, I must admit I am finding Redwall somewhat more … militarily-prepared than I'd anticipated. And not just because you have searats visiting."

"A sign of the times, Your Majesty. What can I say? Now, I think we might find the western battlements a bit too warm for your liking, but at this time of the afternoon there's some nice shade to be found around on the east walltop, overlooking the deep forest. Not quite as sweeping a view as some spots, but we can take a circuit of the entire walltop before settling ourselves down there, so you can take in all the vistas Redwall has to offer!"

Weaving in and out amongst Elmwood's squirrel sentries, Tratton found the lookouts quick to step aside and yield to their Abbess-led trio, while the few other woodlander souls who'd ventured up to the walltop to enjoy the elevated vantage fled ahead of the approaching searats to avoid their presence. Passing above the main gate, Vanessa cheerfully waved down at the ostracized Gawtrybe and the voluntarily-exiled rat guards of Tratton's. "Give them a good pawthumbs-up, Your Majesty, to let them know you're all right. And maybe a nice toothy smile to show them what a nice time you're having here with us."

Realizing he was still very much in red-hued character for public consumption, Tratton did indeed flash a Redclaw-style grin to the uplooking searats and Poinsett's Gawtrybe, accompanied by a jaunty wave that nobeast in distress could possibly have given. Reassured by the sight of Talarek at his sovereign's side, the female squirrel sergeant returned the wave, ignoring for the moment the ignominy of being excluded from the festivities within.

Tratton's attention went from the creatures immediately below them to the temporarily-abandoned construction project across the road. "Still keeping mum on what that's all about, Abbess? I'll find out soon enough, you know."

"Only if you speak with the right beasts, and I can assure you the ones from whom you'd learn the most stand as those least likely to subject themselves to your presence."

"Which seems to constitute pretty much the entire Abbey," Tratton shot back. "Woodlanders, rat refugees, former slaves, Long Patrol, your young ones … have I left anybeast out?"

"I don't believe our Sparra or moles are particularly fond of you either, but you'd not likely be able to easily understand them, so I doubt either of them will be divulging any Abbey secrets to you."

"Aw, what secrets could such simple folk as you have t' keep from me?" Tratton almost playfully probed, partly invoking his Redclaw persona.

"You might be surprised, Your Majesty. Perhaps someday you'll be able to make a return visit to our home, and then you'll see for yourself what the business across the way is all about. Until then, consider it none of your business."

Tratton refused to let the matter drop, but decided to approach it from a different direction. "You know, Abbess, I actually haven't found Redwall to be nearly as crowded as I'd anticipated. Why might that be?"

"I can't imagine what you would or wouldn't anticipate in your own mind, Your Majesty. I may be many things, but a mind-reader isn't one of them."

"You could have fooled me, Abbess."

"But as to overcrowding at Redwall, aren't all those rat refugees down there enough for you? Or your former woodlander slaves, or a hundred of the Guosim?"

Tratton pounced. "My intelligence suggests that those shrews these days typically number closer to two hundred. Where might the rest of them be, now of all times, when tensions between Redwall and Urthblood might naturally demand their full numbers here?"

"Perhaps your intelligence is none too intelligent. There was a rather large war involving shrews last summer that you may have heard about, since you actively sided with Snoga against Urthblood. Where do you think that rebel shrew got all his followers from? It was a time of near-civil war amongst Mossflower's shrews with the Guosim split between Log-a-Log's traditional allies of Redwall and Snoga's breakaway faction. As you're only too well aware, Snoga's ludicrously-named True Guosim didn't come out so well in that affair. Exterminated to the last shrew, unless I'm mistaken. So yes, that whole mess did leave the Guosim's numbers thinned to an extent."

"Hmm. Well, my information had the Guosim at two hundred even after the defections to Snoga's side. And then there's the matter of all the woodland slaves I freed as a provision of the Accord. Now, I may not have kept slaves on my own ships or my more sensitive installations, but that doesn't mean I didn't still have a fair idea of how many slaves were in my Empire. I see but a fraction of those beasts here now. All of which begs the question, Abbess, just where are all your missing shrews and freed slaves off to? For that matter, are the squirrels and otters and moles I see here your full complement, or might some of them be missing from your tables this Nameday as well?"

"Perhaps you are overthinking things, Your Majesty," Vanessa said as she led the two searats around the southwest corner of the walltop and along the south ramparts overlooking the early summer meadow below.

"And perhaps I am not. I saw down there stone lining a large cellar and naked pillars rising up from that foundation, with more clearly meant to be built around this basic framework, and piles of additional stone awaiting that very purpose. Stone which, while it carries the same hallmarks and character of your ancient Abbey, also appears to have been freshly quarried. Quite a project that must be, digging up and shaping all that new stone … and if the no-doubt sizable work crews excavating your quarry were to all return to live permanently at Redwall, I very much think there'd be nowhere near enough room to house them all. Viewed that way, an expansion of your Abbey makes sense. I'm just surprised you decided to place the expansion outside your walls. Rather exposed, isn't it?"

"Impressive bit of deduction there, Majesty. But what makes you think all our workers at the quarry have not in fact returned for this festival? It would be rather uncharacteristic of any Abbeybeast to remain on the other side of the Moss when there's a Nameday being held."

"I could always ask the Gawtrybe, you know. They'd tell me in a heartbeat what you're up to with all of this."

"Then ask away. But I myself will neither confirm nor deny the accuracy of your conclusions. As I have said, you are welcome to pay us future visits to see whether your assumptions have been borne out. Until then, my lips are sealed!"

They continued around the southeast corner of the ramparts, the meadow below them outside yielding to the thick forest of the deep woods encroaching nearly to the Abbey itself. Vanessa gazed into the dense tree growth. "I wonder how many Gawtrybe are out there right now, and how many rats they're terrorizing in their unwarranted and unnecessary campaign. Then again, I suppose all the rats from this part of Mossflower have been cleared out already, and the only Gawtrybe lurking unseen out there now are those enforcing the cordon around Redwall, to ensure no more rats make it through to gain sanctuary within our walls."

"From all I've seen and know about the Gawtrybe, they are a most efficient force, and not to be trifled with. It sounds as if they and Urthblood are taking the Accord most seriously, intent upon fulfilling all of its provisions."

"Whether you yourself want them observed or not?" Vanessa halted and helped herself to a stone wall bench, biding Tratton and Talarek to do the same. "You've already made it plain that you don't plan on keeping slaves much longer, not even the rats being sent your way now. Which prompts me to ask again, why not simply declare your intention openly, here and now, so that this destructive and divisive Purge can be suspended at once, thus sparing further anxiety and misery to those rats in central and southern Mossflower still free and not yet swept up in the Gawtrybe's net? Redwall would represent an ideal spot from which to issue such a proclamation, for any number of symbolic and practical reasons, and it would solve some of our immediate problems on any number of levels. And, if you do journey on to Foxguard after here, you could share your intentions with Sword Tolar as well, to make it official on both ends. I'm sure that fox would gladly receive such tidings, and move at once to put the suspension into effect." The Abbess intently studied the royal rat seated alongside her on this quiet, isolated stretch of the walltop, with no other beasts nearby to overhear. "That _is_ what you want, isn't it?"

"I have found that, in recent seasons, what I want and what I get can sometimes be two very different things, Abbess. I certainly did not want half my navy burned and blasted by Urthblood in the war for which he proved more prepared than I. Nor did I wish for the terms of the peace forced upon me, either in full or in its individual provisions, and yet that is what I find myself with now. It has even been speculated that Urthblood's main reason for insisting upon the Purge and bestowing all the rats of the lands upon me was to overwhelm me with their numbers, and strain my resources to the point where I would be too occupied to even think of renewing hostilities … and perhaps also to sneak some of his disguised fighters in with the civilian woodland rats, to see what problems they might cause us … which is why we've had to treat all the rats Urthblood sends us as prisoners from the moment we receive them, to make sure they cause no trouble."

"Then all the more reason, I would say, for you to want to stop this now, at the earliest possible moment, to relieve the stresses being placed on your Empire. As Winokur pointed out yesterday, Unthblood can do nothing if you simply refuse to accept any more rats from Mossflower, and stop taking them aboard your ships … or, for that matter, stop sending any ships to Salamandastron or any of the other transfer points at all. He can't press upon you rats you're not there to receive."

"Ah, but that might be seen as a violation of the Accord, and grounds for resuming hostilities. Urthblood can be very tricky about such things, setting up traps of all kinds that you would never even suspect might lie hidden within his negotiations until he springs them on you. And if he has been involved in some secret preparations, and feels ready to wage war against my kind once more … " Tratton gave a that's-all-I-can-do shrug.

"We know a thing or two about being violated by Urthblood and his overtures ourselves. And since you saw fit to share with me a secret suspicion of yours, I'll return the favor and reveal to you one of ours. Some among us have speculated that Urthblood's Purge had nothing to do with diplomacy and rewarding you for releasing all your woodlander slaves, or even to rid the lands of a species he might have trouble controlling in the depths of a crisis. Some of us believe he may have undertaken the Purge in its entirety solely to locate and seize a single rat."

Tratton and Talarek both stared at her. "One … rat?" the sea tyrant said.

"Yes. A ratmaid as heavily fated as Urthblood himself, and possessing the same powers of prophecy as well. He sensed her presence in the lands but knew not where, and sensed also that she posed a mortal threat to him. So - and at this point we are just guessing - he initiated the Purge as a means of rooting her out and bringing her to light, so that he might eliminate the danger."

"You speak of this maid as if you believe she actually exists."

"She was our guest here at Redwall for part of last season - the very reason for all our current rat residents, since she foresaw the Purge and led them to the safety of our home. But Urthblood sent his highest-ranking Gawtrybe to us with false purposes of negotiation, and he abducted her and bore her away to Salamandastron right into Urthblood's clutches. Some of us gave chase to rescue her, but those efforts proved futile; the forces arrayed against them were just too powerful."

Tratton digested this. "So, my reports of open strife out in the Plains, between Urthblood and Redwall, are true after all. An actual battle … "

"Two of our hares never came back from that mission, and the Guosim took losses as well. Urthblood's battle gulls rallied to head off our pursuit, and they proved too formidable to overcome - something you know more than a little about yourself. Then again, with the help of our new ally Lord Sodexo, we were able to slay Urthblood's gull captain, along with a great many more of those birds. Call it a draw, in terms of losses if not objectives."

"His gull captain, you say? Urthblood can't have been happy about _that_."

"I very much doubt he cared one way or the other. He's almost certainly appointed a replacement by now, and he got what he wanted. He was willing to incur losses to have the ratmaid brought to him, and I'm sure he accepted them as part of the price for that success."

"So, this rat prophetess was delivered to Urthblood and brought before him? Whereupon she was promptly slain, I take it?"

"That's the funny thing, Your Majesty. Urthblood did not slay her."

The two searats looked on agog at this revelation. "Why not?" Tratton asked. "The very creature who could hold his doom … "

"Because slaying her would have destroyed him. That was the one and only danger she ever posed to him, and somehow he divined this before striking the fatal blow, staying his paw. And thus did our best chance to rid the lands of that badger come to naught."

Tratton narrowed his eyes. "You sound as if you wanted that to happen, Abbess."

"What can I say? There are far too many prophetic beasts running around these days, and not all of us seek absolute dominion over the lands. I could do with a little less competition, and if Urthblood went away I could finally catch up on my sleep. And as for you, if Urthblood had fallen at that moment, you might already have Salamandastron for yourself, instead of playing tourist here in Mossflower."

"Based on this conversation, Abbess, I'd say that playing tourist has its advantages. So, this all-powerful ratmaid that Urthblood dare not slay, where is she now? Languishing in Salamandastron's dungeons, no doubt?"

"Well, that's another funny thing, Your Majesty. Actually, _you_ have her now."


	62. Chapter LXI

**LXI.**

 **FOXGUARD**

Whether the commissary line at Foxguard typically parted for Jaffox largely depended on just who was in that line. Tolar's swordfoxes, even the most junior brigade members and cadets, possessed too much pride to be pushed around in their own stronghold, refusing to yield to the brutish Northlander and making him wait his turn to be served. And the Gawtrybe weren't about to be intimidated by anybeast, no matter where they were. Jaffox's own squad, on the other paw, knew better than to keep their oft ill-tempered chief waiting for his sustenance, and would quickly step aside when they saw him coming. And Foxguard's staff weasels, lacking their vulpine masters' confidence or the squirrel archers' easy arrogance, similarly allowed Jaffox to cut ahead of them, eager to avoid any censure or accrue any disfavor or even elicit any disparaging looks from the sinister campaigner. And especially after what had happened to Sappakit, the lowly weasels saw no point in unduly provoking the big fox and risking his wrath.

On this evening a mix of all four occupied the space between Jaffox and his supper. Weasels and Northland foxes parted to let him get closer to the front of the line, but swordfox and Gawtrybe held their ground, leaving Jaffox in the middle of the pack. Ignoring the squirrels, he barked at the black-clad foxes, "Hey, second-in-command comin' through here! Ain'tcher whelps ever learned proper respect fer yer superiors? Thought you lot prided yerself on yer discipline!"

Stillafax turned to regard Jaffox with disdainful dismissiveness. "You aren't our superior."

Jaffox bared his fangs, mentally marking the young swordfox as a potential troublemaker who might need to be dealt with at a later time. "Lord Urthblood's orders says I am."

Another junior brigade fox named Riddik backed up Stillafax. "Sappakit wouldn't have asked us to let him go in front of us."

Jaffox's superior scowl turned darker. "I ain't Sappakit."

The swordfoxes responded with mild scowls of their own and turned their backs on their antagonizer, antagonizing him further. Jaffox voiced his dissatisfaction to those who would still listen. "Seems t' me a beast of my rank an' standin' oughta be able t' just take a seat an' be waited on. Ain't that right, Glennon?"

The addressed fox, one of the more refined and less crude of the Northland squad, gave a prompt nod of agreement. "I'd say that'd make sense, chief. Put some o' those weasels t' work, now that they ain't so busy mintin' Realms that nobeast 'round here wants."

"Aye," Jaffox went on, "if I were in charge o' things 'round here, you'd see some changes, an' that's fer sure."

Stillafax whipped his head back around to glare at Jaffox. "You will _never_ be in charge of Foxguard!"

The big fox turned a level stare on the smaller one. "Yeah, if I was in charge 'round 'ere, somebeasts would learn Northlands-style discipline, an' proper respect fer their superiors."

Several of Jaffox's squad looking on from behind Glennon sniggered, while the weasels farther back in line fidgeted and diverted their gazes nervously, discomfited as always by this toxic strife between foxes.

Further tension was headed off for the moment by the sound of a distant bell reaching the mess hall, signalling that the high watch had a message to send down. Moments later, a cadet poked his head through the doorway. "Sword Tolar? Is Sword Tolar here?"

"No, he isn't," replied Dalkeith from one of the tables, the veteran swordfox eyeing the parchment in the younger fox's paw. "What is it, Morency?"

"Another group of rats being brought in by the Gawtrybe, sir. Big one - looks to be nearly threescore, from what the watch reports."

All the Gawtrybe, both seated and standing, moved to flow out of the dining chamber past the message-bearer, their meals forgotten. Not to be outdone, Dalkeith announced, "Well, we'd best go see to this too. All foxes of the brigade, muster outside!" The veteran swordfox pounded down one last bite of his dinner before following his own directive, wiping his muzzle and limping out of the commissary with paw on sword hilt. Stillafax and his fellow junior foxes grudgingly followed along, abandoning their places in the meal line. But they were professionals, and they obeyed orders, and this would hardly be their first missed or delayed dinner in service to Foxguard.

Jaffox grinned at the sight of the modest mess hall emptying out. "Hey, look, boys! Front o' th' line fer us after all!"

"Ain't we goin' out too, chief?" Glennon inquired.

"Naw. Them swordswingers an' treejumpers can see to all that. Just more rats in chains, naught they can't handle themselves, or of any concern to us. Altho' … "

"Altho' what, sir?"

"If King Tratton decides t' drop by Foxguard after all, havin' all those rats in our dungeons might be a good way of impressin' him - let 'im see all th' work we been doin' in the interest of the Accord. So p'raps we'll not wanna be sendin' 'em along on their way downriver with our shrews right away. Could be fortuitous timin' fer us, sumpthin' that'll work to our advantage far as makin' ourselves look good."

"Whaddya care what that seascum thinks, chief?"

"Ain't Tratton I'm tryin' t' win points with. Lord Urthblood ordered us t' receive that sea tyrant an' make nice with 'im, so satisfyin' Tratton'll boost our status with 'is Lordship, an' the Gawtrybe too."

"Yeah, but, won't those treeleapers take all the credit fer roundin' up those pris'ners an' bringing 'em in?"

"Whose dungeons will Tratton see those rats fillin', the Gawtrybe's - or ours?"

"Then what about Tolar? He'll try'n make it look like he runs ev'rything 'bout this place, an' he'll grab up all th' glory for 'imself."

"Our fine Sword's made it pretty plain he don't care one way or the other about our Purge, an' would just as soon have naught t' do with it if he could. I'm thinkin' he'll not clamber to claim credit fer anything he pinches his snout at, not even to impress th' Searat King. Matter o' fact, that dereliction o' duty might just lead to him not bein' in charge o' Foxguard by th' time Tratton gets here." Jaffox stepped up to the serving counter, staffed by a weasel named Croffet. "So, what's good t'day, scraggs?"

"Good or bad, it's th' same grub fer ev'rybeast," Croffet grumbled, doling out the simple fare onto a wood tray for Jaffox. "From th' Sword 'imself on down to us, makes no diff'rence, does it?"

Jaffox sniffed at his food. "Least it's Mossflower fare. Hadta stomach lots worse up North." He turned to go, but a word from the serving weasel made him pause.

"'ey, sir?"

Something about Croffet's lowered, conspiratorial tone caught Jaffox's interest more than anything regarding weasels normally would. "Yeah?"

"What you was sayin', 'bout you bein' in charge 'ere … "

Jaffox narrowed his eyes, refusing to lower his own voice to match the weasel's. "You got a problem with that?" he challenged.

"Actshully, we might not. We gotta talk."

"We?" Jaffox broke gazes with Croffet to take in the other weasels standing behind his foxes in the now much-shortened dinner line, and started when he found them all looking on as if part of the present conversation, with a nervous intensity suggesting they all felt heavily invested in the outcome. The big fox looked back to the servingbeast behind the counter. "I'm all ears. Say what y' gotta say."

But Croffet shook his head. "Not 'ere. Not where those black swordswingers could walk in on us at any moment. Gotta be someplace private, where we c'n talk without bein' interrupted, or discovered."

A warning bell went off in Jaffox's head, as he recalled his earlier conversation with Joska, and his suspicions that Tolar and Mona might be planning something against him in retribution for Sappakit. "An' I suppose ye'll want me t' come alone?"

"Come alone, bring ev'ry fox in yer squad, I don' care. Long as you can do it quiet-like, without Tolar an' his brigade knowin'."

"Where'd you have in mind? Our friendly blackshirts run this place top t' bottom, an' they're allers watchin' me. Only safe place t' gather might be outside the wall."

"Nay, that'd look too suspicious, you an' us goin' out at th' same time. Come down to th' minting shop, where we stamped out the Realms. It's outta the way, so nobeast's like t' come snoopin' 'round. We c'n talk private down there."

"Mona keeps her surgery down on that level, an' there's that glassmaker too. An' soon the cells will all be full o' new rat pris'ners. Place ain't as outta th' way as you seem t' think, friend."

Croffet mulled this over for a few heartbeats, then said, "So volunteer yer own squad t' guard th' rats. Tolar would be happy t' turn that duty over to you, an' the Gawtrybe prob'ly wouldn't mind neither. That'll give you reason t' all be down there without tippin' anybeast off. Just wait 'til Tolar an' Mona have turned in fer th' night, an' ye'll be able t' come an' go as y' please. We'll be waitin' fer you."

"An' if I don't show?"

"We'll be waitin' fer you anyways. Not like we've got aught else t' do, 'cept wait on Tolar's foxes paw 'n' tail, doin' whatever menial labor he throws our way."

Jaffox considered this invitation while weasels and foxes regarded each other with suspicion. At length he said, "Midnight. Be there, if y' wanna talk. An' you'd best not be tryin' t' pull anything smart."

"Nuthin' smart. Jus' talk."

"Okay then." Jaffox turned and found a space at a table with his tray, seating himself as if he owned the place, wondering with more eager curiosity than he dared show just what this coming night would hold.

00000000000

Jaffox still couldn't tell if it was a trap.

Croffet's earlier suggestion had worked like a charm; nobeast at Foxguard raised an eyebrow or seemed the least bit suspicious when the Northlanders volunteered to guard the dungeons once the latest rat prisoners had been secured there by the Gawtrybe. Perhaps the swordfoxes and squirrels merely accepted it as another opportunity for the sadistic campaigners to taunt and intimidate the captive rodents. Thus did Jaffox and his crew assume de facto control over Foxguard's cellars well before midnight - and thus too did Mona and Kyslith make a point of vacating their workspaces to be away from the unsavory brutes.

Tolar's foxes didn't even follow Jaffox downstairs when their new second-in-command descended to the cellars during the late hours, confident he could get up to no real mischief on this lower level occupied only by packed holding cells and unoccupied work spaces.

Glennon and Redrovan met Jaffox at the bottom of the stairs. "How many?" the hulking chieftain asked his underlings.

"All of 'em, I think," Redrovan answered.

Jaffox chewed this over. "Then I guess they're serious, whatever they got in mind. Let's go see what they wanna talk to us about so bad."

The workchamber in which the Realms had been forged, hammered and stamped now stood packed with weasels and foxes - far more of the former than the latter, since neither Jaffox nor his squadmates felt he needed more than a pawful of his cohorts to meet any treachery the laborers might have in mind, and to put down any or all weasels who proved hostile. With all the coin-making equipment pushed back against the walls to afford more space for this gathering, figures of both species crowded into the room while others stood watch out in the corridor and by the stairs, ready to alert everybeast else should any of Tolar's brigade venture their way.

Jaffox surveyed the assemblage before him, every weasel eye turned his way and filled with expectation. "Well," he drawled, "this must be all th' weasels we got at Foxguard."

"Not all." Croffet stepped forward, or as much as he could in the nearly shoulder-to-shoulder crowd. "Few of us're still out an' about on duty. Couldn't spare any of us whose presence would be missed. But we're all of th' same mind, an' we speak fer them as well."

"An' just what is it ye're speakin'?" Jaffox queried. "No more mysterious secrecy or dancin' about it, or I'm headin' back up to my bed an' you c'n talk to empty air."

"Okay, then." Croffet, the apparent spokesweasel for all his fellows, wiped his paws on his tunic nervously. "We don't like what's been goin' on 'tween foxes here at Foxguard - 'tween you 'n' Tolar. Puts us in an awkward posishun, where we ain't sure what we're s'posed to be doin', or who to obey, since we're oft told diff'rent things dependin' on who's doin' th' tellin'. This can't go on. It's gotta stop. An' that's what we're here t' say to you t'night."

Jaffox put one footpaw up on a low bench, leaning forward and crossing his arms over his knee. "Gotta stop, huh? An' just what wouldja happen t' mean by that?"

"Means it can't go on, simple as that. We can't quit, so we're stuck 'ere. You, you got more options an' leeway than that. We can't change our lot - but you can."

"By quittin'?" Jaffox spat.

"By movin' on. Common knowledge that you were called down t' Mossflower t' help with th' Purge. All Tolar's foxes say it, all th' Gawtrybe say it too. Funny what beasts'll say when it's just us inconserquenshul weasels around, who nobeast feels they gotta take inta account. You done field work north o' here when you brought in that horde, an' there's gotta be lots more that still needs doin' south o' here. So why don'tcher just go do it, an' solve ev'rybeast's problem?"

Jaffox glared at Croffet, fangs glistening through slightly-parted black lips. "You got some brass, sayin' that t' me, I'll give ya that much. Did Tolar put you up to this?"

"We think Tolar's as much th' problem as you are. Nay, he don't know about this. We're here of our own accord, speakin' as weasels an' naught else."

"Then I'll tell you what I told Custis, an' Tolar 'imself: my orders install me as second-in-command of Foxguard, an' that takes priority over all else. I ain't movin' on anywhere until things're put right here."

"Then put 'em right," Croffet challenged. "However y' gotta do it. We can't serve two masters under th' same roof."

Jaffox was silent for a long pause, eyes narrowed. "So, just what is it ye're sayin'? You joinin' my side?"

"Ain't joinin' any side. We're here t' serve Lord Urthblood, an' that's it. Nail that sticks up gets hammered down, an' we learnt long ago not t' go stickin' our heads up or out any more'n we gotta. Rumor goin' 'round that mebbe you got secret orders t' replace Tolar. If you do, that ain't any of our business, so we'll just stand back an' let ya do what y' gotta do. That's all we're promisin' here - jus' standin' back an' not gettin' in yer way, whatever way that is."

"Then it sounds t' me like all ye're offerin's a big steamin' pile of nuthin'. I was allers countin' on you lot stayin' outta my way, no matter how things shook out - if y' value yer own necks. Now mebbe if you were ready to declare yerselves allies to my cause, that'd be sumpthin' diff'rent from what I'm hearin' now."

"We ain't pickin' you over Tolar … an' we ain't pickin' him over you. We can't. You move against 'im an' you lose, you'll be dead an' we'll still hafta serve under Tolar. You come out on top, then we gotta serve under you. Don't much care which o' you we end up callin' master - that's fox business, fer th' two o' you t' work out 'twixt you - but there's gotta be just one. You take Foxguard fer yet own, we'll serve you faithfully, just like we allers have Tolar, an' Andrus 'fore him. But that's up t' you to make happen. We'll not aid you in this."

"Then ye're wastin' my time." Jaffox put his footpaw back down on the stone floor and turned to go.

"We control th' kitchens."

Jaffox stopped in his tracks, turning back around to face Croffet. "Go on."

"Well, if there's sumpthin' you gotta do, we might be willin' t' look the other way. Who d'you think prepares all th' meals here at Foxguard? Sure ain't Tolar's bunch. An' who d'ya suppose our Sword assigned t' guard our larders an' beverage stocks t' make sure you an' yer vixen didn't get to 'em? Dunno how you pulled off whatcher did with Sappakit, but - "

"Sappakit got drunk an' hit his head fallin' off a barge … an' don't you go suggestin' otherwise t' anybeast."

"Ah, yeah, right. Whatever y' say. But anyways, that's our offer, an' that's as far as we're willin' t' go. We'll not actively aid you in anything y' got planned or anything you wanna try an' pull off, but we'll step back an' give you leeway t' do it yerself … an' we'll not go runnin' off to squeal t' Tolar neither. The rest is up to you."

"Hmm." Jaffox stepped right up to Croffet, going toe to toe with the smaller beast as he stared down at the weasel. "Again, how do I know Tolar didn't just tell you t' say all this? How can I be sure ye're not all workin' t'gether to catch me in a trap?"

Croffet swallowed nervously. "Wouldn't be much of a trap if you weren't at least thinkin' along these same lines already. Mebbe we're readin' you wrong, but we felt sure enuff about this to approach you. You got a, uh, reputation, after all."

"That might be exactly th' wrong answer if ye're lookin' t' gain my confidence. So try again."

"If you don't trust us, bring that seer vixen o' yers down 'ere an' let 'er have a go at us. We're on th' level 'ere, an' we're willin' t' prove it."

"Prove it? Not much of a gamble from yer end, since ev'rybeast's been calling her out as a fraud from th' moment she got here, an' even some o' the horde outside think she's a fake. Gotta do better'n that."

"Hey, we jus' wanted t' letcher know what we was willin' t' do to end th' strife 'round 'ere. Whether you wanna take us up on it is yer business. But it's an open offer, whether you do anything about it or not."

"Still ain't sure why you'd approach me about this over Tolar. Wouldja really rather serve under me than him?"

"Don't care one way or the other, long as there's one fox at th' top we gotta follow, and only one. An' as fer why we went with you over Tolar far as this offer goes, well, that's rather obvious, ain't it? That Sword's shown he ain't willin' or able t' take you on, even tho' he's sure you were behind what happened to Sappakit. If there's gonna be a change, it won't be comin' from his end. If this conflict's gonna be put t' rest, won't be him that's gonna solve it."

"But I can, is what ye're sayin'?"

Croffet eyed the big fox. "You said it, sir, not me."

"Hm. Even if I were to take you at yer word, who's t' say one o' these other longnecks won't go runnin' t' Tolar with what we're hatchin' here?"

"We ain't hatchin' nuthin'. If you go ahead with anything that lands you in trouble, that's all on you. Bein' honest with you right up front 'bout that. But none of us'll spout off t' Tolar. We chewed this over 'mongst ourselves, an' at good length too, an' we're all agreed on this, even th' ones who ain't here. We'd not o' called you here if we had any doubt left 'bout this bein' th' way t' go."

Jaffox stepped back and looked around the chamber, meeting the gaze of every weasel. "Some o' you seem a tad … nervous."

"Well, wouldn't you be, in our place? Ain't exactly routine Foxguard business we're talkin' here, is it?"

"Still sounds t' me like ye're lookin' fer me to take all th' risk while leavin' a way fer you lot to, heh, weasel outta it … "

"Well, it's yer risk t' take, if you take it, ain't it? An' yer fortress to run uncontested if it all works out."

Jaffox backed toward the chamber doorway, keeping his face toward his would-be fellow conspirators. "We'll talk."

"Nay," Croffet returned, showing more temerity than most underlings ever dared show to Jaffox, "we'd just as soon you didn't. Meetin' once like this's all th' risk we're willin' t' take, an' you've heard all we had t' say. Naught else t' be hashed out on any o' this. You go back t' ignorin' us, an' we'll do our best to ignore you, whatever that means, until you foxes get it all sorted out 'tween yerselves."

Appearing to take the weasel's advice, Jaffox withdrew from the chamber and stalked off down the curved corridor, his mind in a whirl over all the possibilities and pitfalls which had just been presented to him.

Redrovan and Glennon stayed at their chief's side. "So, y' think they can be trusted?" Redrovan asked.

"Guess we'll find out, won't we?"

Glennon paused a moment before saying, "Mebbe shouldn'ta been alla us there, t' hear that. Some things, th' fewer who know, th' better."

"An' what'd you hear 'em say, Glenn? That they was gonna help us 'gainst Tolar by doin' absolutely nothing? Not exactly incriminatin' - which is just how they planned it, no doubt. But don't you worry, yer paws'll be clean in any o' this - yer's an' all th' rest of the squad's. If anything's t' come of this t'all, none o' you'll be involved, fer reasons of deniability if naught else. Let me look inta this on my own, an' stand ready to move if the situation calls fer it."

"Aye, chief!" both his subordinates swore as one.

In his own mind, although he dared share it with no other at that moment, Jaffox told himself that it was time to instruct Joska to start brewing up her favored special concoction - just in case these weasels were as good as their word, and had just given him exactly the opening he'd been looking for.


	63. Chapter LXII

**LXII.**

 **REDWALL**

Jaffox and Croffet weren't the only creatures engaged in late-hour consultations that night in Mossflower.

Across the river at Redwall, the Nameday celebrations stretched all through the day and into evening. And while some of the feastgoers - namely the former slaves and the main body of the Long Patrol - declined to mingle with the rat refugees right to the end, in many other ways the barriers came down as mouse, mole, hedgehog, squirrel, otter, shrew and badger turned out to trade pleasantries and good cheer with their new rat Abbeydwellers. At the urging of Skytop, Harpreet and Brybag, even some of the Sparra flew down to join the outdoor portions of the festivities, skipping and prancing and flapping about the lawns with their usual flighty abandon. Shrews and otters sang and traded jokes with Harth's rats over light ale and cordials, games were played by young and old alike, and tales were told in their many isolated multitudes. After the sun set and night began to fall, bonfires were lit against the mild coolness, and around these blazes gathered a great many creatures eager to keep the holiday going against the return to routine chores and schooling.

Of all the creatures on paw for this Nameday of the Summer of All Welcome Beasts, two felt pointedly excluded. Shunned by both the ex-slaves and Long Patrol within Great Hall as well as the rat refugees out on the grounds, Tratton and Talarek found themselves all but ostracized by those around them, held off at a safe remove due to an open attitude of distrust the Abbey residents didn't try too hard to disguise. In truth, this suited the two searats just fine; Tratton was content to observe the proceedings from a distance, while Talarek felt relief at not having to guard his King against the threat of potential assassins hiding amidst a constant press of closely-gathered and active woodlanders. Knowing that all of Harth's horderats had been stripped of their weapons and denied the opportunity to rearm in any fashion provided some assurance, but the Imperial guardrat well remembered the attempt on his sovereign's life by a glassmaker pine marten with little if any reputed fighting skills, and thus kept his vigilance as constantly heightened as Tratton would expect, even when it seemed everybeast else within sight was all but ignoring them.

The outdoor festivities finally wound down in earnest in the hour before midnight, Tratton marking off the time by the constellations overhead out of old nautical habit. Vanessa appeared once again to escort the searats back down to Cavern Hole for the night. "Unless you'd rather stay up some more?" she prompted. "Our otters sometimes keep their ballads and shanties going straight through to dawn, and with the Guosim here as well, who can tell what will happen?"

"That's all right, Abbess. I've kept my share of long nights at Terramort, and since I am a guest here, I'll enjoy your hospitality for a full night's rest, and leave your otters and shrews to sing by themselves."

"Ah, yes! Terramort! I'm sure we'll all want to be hearing more about your home isle. Or at least I will, since I'm sure there are things you'll not want to reveal about it to anybeast unaware of your true identity."

"With all due respect, Abbess, there are many things about Terramort I would prefer not to reveal to you either."

"Fair enough. So, how have you enjoyed your first and perhaps last Nameday at Redwall, Your Majesty?"

"Not planning on inviting me back, Abbess?"

"That's entirely up to you. I just assumed, with your own maritime Empire to oversee, you'll likely be too busy to make any more forays to Mossflower. But if I am wrong, our gates are always open to you, as long as you come in peace."

"I'll keep that standing invitation in mind, Abbess."

Delivered down to Cavern Hole without incident or excessive interaction with the other Abbeybeasts, Tratton and Talarek found some of the Brothers and Sisters preparing bedding for them on the stone floor. The guardsrat took Vanessa to task over this. "Abbess, I must object. It was one thing to storehouse us down here when we numbered a score and a half, but now that it's just me and … Captain Redclaw, I must insist we be given space in an actual bedchamber, with real beds, not mats and blankets to make do like we're still out in the wilds of Mossflower."

"Your numbers may have decreased, but our number of beds has not changed, and they're all taken. But, speaking of the wilds of Mossflower, you're free to join your fellow searats outside the Abbey if you find these accommodations so objectionable."

Tratton, staying in character, interceded before Talarek could press the matter. "Aw, this 'ere's just fine, Abbess marm. Yer mats an' blankets an' a dry roof overhead's good 'nuff fer this old salt, an' my companion here too!"

Left alone at last when Vanessa and her fellow mice withdrew - although undoubtedly still guarded by otters and hares unobtrusively stationed at the top of the stairs in Great Hall and along the tunnels leading to the Long Patrol warrens - Tratton and Talarek settled down onto their makeshift beds to discuss the day's events in tones low enough that no eavesdropping ears would be likely to hear.

"What do you make of all she said about that ratmaid Urthblood snatched, Your Majesty?" the guardsrat began. "Abbess made it sound like that prophetess might be as powerful as the badger himself, at least in her wild talents and ability to shape events around her. Do you believe any such thing could be true?"

"The Abbess certainly seems to believe it - or else she's a very convincing liar. But at least now we have confirmation of armed conflict between Redwall and Urthblood, from the very source. And it seems more serious than even our reports suggested. If that ratmaid's abduction played any big part in contributing to this strife between woodlanders, then I owe her a greater debt than she will ever know."

"Yes, but … what of the trouble she could cause us? Right now she's out there on one of our ships - probably the _Redfoam_ , since that's where we first heard any of this from - so what kind of problems might she be raising for Captain Trangle and his crew?"

"The _Redfoam_ has had plenty of time to deliver her woodland rats to Talaga, for … proper disposal at the claws of our new winged allies. Trangle's orders were to then bear the two 'Redwall rats' Jagtar told us about directly to Terramort for interrogation, and I suspect that's where the prophet maiden is at this very moment … and I do hope Uroza doesn't go too hard on her, since the Abbess described her as something of a simpleton. In fact, I suspect she was the very ratmaid Trangle had sitting in on his meeting with Jagtar."

Talarek shook his head. "I don't know, Your Majesty. From the way the Abbess spoke of her, she could cause even Spymaster Uroza trouble."

"Powers of prophecy set against cold, hard purpose? An intriguing match-up; I wish I could be there to see it. What I can't help wondering is how easily Trangle would give her up to Uroza. If he was getting information from her that he couldn't get any other way - such as the fact that I was aboard the _Darktide_ , and headed for Salamandastron, with the intent of making this tour of the inner lands, none of which he could possibly have known - he might have already exempted her from slave status and taken her as his own pet prophet, for his own benefit. That's what any right-thinking captain of the Fleet would do upon realizing they had a rat with such abilities in their midst."

"I would prefer to think they'd report it right away to Terramort, and turn that rat over to you and the Spymaster, without having to be ordered to do so."

"It will happen anyway. The truth, Talarek, is that we already knew of this ratmaid from the moment Trangle revealed to Jagtar that he had rats from Redwall sharing his ship; we simply didn't know of her prophetic nature, which Trangle conveniently withheld from us. But he has his orders now, and he would not dare disobey such orders issued directly by a spyrat of the Bureau. I suspect I will find this Latura of whom the Abbess spoke awaiting me on Talaga upon my return, once I am finished here in Mossflower and take to the sea once more. Although … "

"You think Trangle might have other ideas? Decide to try to keep the ratmaid for himself somehow?"

"Not what I was thinking, although that's a possibility too, I suppose. But I had the bigger picture in mind. What if our ratmaid isn't a prophet at all? We know only that she told Trangle things she couldn't possibly have known, and he believed her, and then he shared those details with Jagtar, who shared them with us. But what if that information originated not with her, but with Urthblood, and she only poses as a beast with prophetic gifts? It's possible that Urthblood foresaw my arrival at Salamandastron, and even my intent to tour Mossflower, and created this Latura as a fiction to confuse me, to make me think another noteworthy player had entered into these events when no such thing was true, and it's all just been him all along."

This theory surprised Talarek. "But, the Abbess … she said … "

"Yes, she did, didn't she? Which would mean she would have to be working in collusion with Urthblood against me, and that's not a scenario I would prefer to entertain, since it would mean I am now surrounded by enemies to an extent and of a nature I'd not previously suspected. But the Abbess has also dropped hints at knowing more than she should, and not just in regard to my true identity. So I must ask myself which seems more likely: that creatures with prophetic powers are now proliferating all throughout the lands, or that it's all just Urthblood, pulling all the strings?"

"But … how would you even know which is true?" Talarek asked with some alarm, since this matter might well impact his own duties as far as safeguarding his sovereign.

"Ideally, I would talk with many of the other beasts here at Redwall, to see how many support the Abbess's version of events. But, as you may have noticed, she keeps us on a very short leash, rather drastically limiting our exposure to others who could shed further light on all of this - which, in itself, raises my suspicions. It may be that I will have to wait until I can return to Terramort to question and examine this Latura myself before I can settle this matter to my satisfaction … if it even can be."

"And until then, Your Majesty, you are surrounded on all sides by creatures who may be involved in a conspiracy against you so vast that it spans all the lands, and so complicated that the strands of falsehood woven between Redwall and Salamandastron may prove impossible to ever unravel."

"Hm. Well put, Talarek. But it makes me think that if I don't get my answers soon, I may need to cut short my intended time in Mossflower and return to Terramort as quickly as I possibly can."

 **SALAMANDASTRON**

A gentle summer evening lay over the coastlands around Salamandastron, the sun sinking into the calm sea whose waves lazily lapped the shore as if all the world was calm and at peace.

Two of Tillamook's hedgehog lookouts were the first to spot the flapping, gliding form of Klystra bearing in toward the plateau. One of the quilled sentries bustled down into the mountain to summon Matowick even as the falcon fluttered to a landing on the crater rim. It took some time for the Gawtrybe captain to make his appearance, a window of respite Klystra welcomed to catch his breath and rest his travel-weary wings.

Matowick approached the warrior-messenger with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. "Captain, we expected you long before now. We were growing concerned that something might have befallen you."

"No, all went smoothly. Found Lord Urthblood at Castle Floret, already arrived and guest of Squirrelking Fael. Odd duck, is Fael. Negotiations and logistics ongoing. Much at paw, at wing."

"Negotiations and logistics, hm? Sounds like His Lordship has a full plate - and that he did indeed have proper cause to travel to Southsward at this time. What of the searats? Do they truly compete with us for the Squirrel King's favor?"

"Yes, although not in way you might expect. Additional complications to situation. Main reason for my delay."

Matowick's ears pricked forward. "Complications, you say? Nothing too detrimental to our own cause, I should hope?"

"Unforeseen threat to Southsward. Savage reptiles from south, perhaps major threat. Fael holds contest to see who defeats them better, us or searats. Whoever wins gains alliance with Floret."

"A … contest? To defeat their enemy? That's … most unconventional."

"Odd duck, as said."

"Well, surely Lord Urthblood would win such a contest … wouldn't he? Although … he travels with a mere fifty or so mice and squirrels, whereas the searats have two ships full of fighters anchored right at Southsward's doorstep. And they have their stormpowder, and catapults to deliver it … " Matowick's concerned gaze went to Klystra. "Is there a chance we could lose Southsward to Tratton over this?"

"Always chance, suppose. But Lord Urthblood plans and schemes and strategizes, thinks can come out on top. Waited to send me until ready."

"Well, that's… good, at least." While this was not the news Matowick had expected and he could understand why the falcon was eager to report it, anxiety about his own station gnawed at his patience. "How did Lord Urthblood take the news of Trelayne's death? What is to be done about it?"

"Took news as news. Done is done. Did agree Kyslith to be recalled from Foxguard. Send summons from signal mirror, since birds be too busy."

"Too busy?"

"You repeat much what I say."

"Er, sorry. But why will the birds be too busy? We've had both Altidor and Saugus flying between here and Mossflower regularly, to help escort Tratton's party. Last we'd heard, they'd reached Redwall without incident, and that's only just across the River Moss from Foxguard."

Klystra considered this. "Then send word that way, next flight to leave. But will be last flight for some time. All gulls to be pulled from Mossflower, reassigned to Southsward. Captain Saugus, Commodore Altidor to stand ready at Salamandastron, in case needed to help direct operations on short notice."

"They're all to be pulled from Mossflower? Captain Custis has found the gulls invaluable scouts for his resettlement campaign. And what of Tratton and Poinsett's expedition? How will we monitor their progress and stay in contact with them?

"Can monitor from Foxguard, high watch tower sees far. Gawtrybe also active where Tratton is now, can assist if needed. But birds needed south … as explained in dispatch." As if only belatedly remembering the message cylinder strapped to one leg, Klystra extended that limb for Matowick to remove the parchment from within.

The squirrel held the loose scroll in his paws for a few moments, hesitating to unfurl it. "Did His Lordship specifically mention anything pertaining to … my command?"

"Your command?" Klystra cocked his head in puzzlement, then a light seemed to go on in his eyes. "Ah yes! Seemed surprised to hear, on my arrival, that Poinsett now sergeant. Seemed to think you would escort Tratton yourself. But then mentioned no more. May refer to that in message - did not read myself."

"Uh … right." Steeling himself, Matowick unrolled the parchment and began to read. The knot in his stomach slowly relaxed as he read on, finding no censure or reprimand against him contained within its words. Indeed, the dispatch closely followed what Klystra had already reported verbally: the acknowledgment of Trelayne's death, along with a directive to inter the marten in a place of honor on the south slopes alongside Machus's grave and glass statue; an official recall of Kyslith from Foxguard to join Tolomeo in Salamandastron's glass shops; the reassignment of all gulls from Mossflower to Southsward, since those stationed at the mountain would remain in place for purposes of security and defense; an enjoinder that Klystra, Altidor and Saugus tarry at Salamandastron and refrain from any further inland flights so as to be at Urthblood's immediate disposal; and a brief recapitulation of the state of affairs at Floret, both in regard to the searats and the murderous lizards. And then, at the end, an order that made Matowick blink in surprised alarm.

"This … is this right?"

"Is what right?" the falcon asked.

Matowick thrust forth the dispatch, one claw stabbing at the parchment to indicate a line near the end. Klystra craned his head down to scan the words; not being the most adept of readers, as was the case with most birds, many of whom couldn't read at all, he needed some moments to decipher the left-pawed badger's scrawl. Straightening, the raptor declared, "Yes, is correct. Lord Urthblood stated is what he needs. All to be delivered to Floret, by gull. As many birds as needed to carry."

Matowick could only stare at the parchment and its inked scribbles, now blurring into incoherence before his unblinking vision.

"He wants our _entire_ stockpile of the Yellow Death?"


	64. Chapter LXIII

**LXIII**

 **THE** _ **REDFOAM**_

As soon as Talaga came into view as a vague and misty line of land on the far horizon, the _Redfoam_ 's lookout Trovato called the sighting down from the crow's nest, and Cordato turned his galleon northward until the isle receded from sight once more, the rest of his rebel fleet following in his wake. There they dropped anchor and converged for another captains' meeting to discuss their next move.

The _Redfoam_ 's former helmsrat Gramaton had, more by default than anything, been granted captaincy of the recently-commandeered _Mainstaker_ , her cargo of woodland rat slaves now freed from rowing galley chains and prison holds and enjoying a freedom they'd not known since being rounded up from their homes by the Gawtrybe for delivery to Tratton. Many of those displaced land rats found themselves right back at their former rowing stations, but this time by their own choice, agreeing to meet the needs of their new situation now that manacles no longer encircled their wrists and ankles, and they were receiving food and drink and healing attention from their liberators of the sort Captain Tramble had naturally denied them.

Now Gramaton hitched a ride on _Fleetrunner Eleven_ to join Tropsa, Ramjohn and Cordato on the _Redfoam_ 's deck for an open strategy session. Latura and Potdar were there too; Tropsa threw a glance the ratmaid's way before they got fully down to business. "What's she got t' say on all this?"

"Not much," Cordato replied, with Potdar nodding confirmation. "Hasn't spoke a word in over a day, like she's drawn all inta herself. Dunno what it means - even her old villager pal's stymied. He said she gets this way sometimes, but it don't mean any one thing or another. Looks like mebbe we'll hafta figger out our next move without her help."

"Aye, but what'll that be?" Ramjohn asked. "We'd already decided an open approach is no good, an' we'll hafta pass either north or south of Talaga so that we'll not be spotted, then land somewhere near the middle of the isle where there's still croplands an' food stores but not so close to the main village or fort that we'd attract their attention. This whole thing'll be a tricky affair to pull off, but whatever we're gonna do, we'll hafta do it fast, 'cos with all these new mouths to feed, we're down to mere days' worth of provisions."

"There's lots we c'n do," Latura said into the silence that followed the mouse captain's statement.

"An' _now_ she speaks," Tropsa muttered.

Cordato looked to the prophetic ratmaid. "Like what, Lattie?"

"Big fort," she said, almost absently.

"Aye, Lattie, we know there's a big fort there, with lots 'n' lots of guards. That's what we gotta avoid."

Latura nodded, then shook her head, conveying affirmation and disagreement in almost the same motion. "Lotsa guards. Lotsa pris'ners too."

"True. Bet there's some of our own crew who served time in Fort Ballaster's dungeons 'fore bein' transferred to th' _Redfoam_."

"That there are," Tropsa attested. "An' one or two who even served duty at that place, before runnin' afoul o' Tratton an' ending up in chains."

"An' badred redbadger's ratties too," Latura put in.

This caused a momentary hush to fall over the group, and Ramjohn looked to Latura with an especially intent stare. "You're saying all of Lord Urthblood's rat fighters - the ones he turned over to Tratton upon the signing of the Accord - are locked up there in that fort?"

"Um … yeah?"

"Only makes sense," Tropsa added. "That's th' most secure lock-up in all the Empire. If Tratton weren't gonna slay 'em all outta paw, that's where 'ee'd send 'em. Nobeast's breakin' outta there, this season or any other."

Ramjohn pursed his lips. "What about breaking _in_?"

The others regarded the mouse as if he were crazy. "Are y' daft?" Tropsa spat. "What're you goin' on about?"

"These're fighters of Urthblood's we're talking about here," the mouse spelled out. "Which is to say, some of the most highly-trained, disciplined an' formidable soldierbeasts you'll find anywhere … an' you can bet they'll not be any happier with Tratton about bein' chained up in his dungeons than you lot were about slavin' away in a rowin' galley. We let 'em out an' turn 'em loose on their jailers, there's no end to the grief they could cause."

"We came t' Talaga to grab us food 'n' drink, an' get away with our necks if we can," Cordato told Ramjohn rather sternly. "Lattie even said so. This ain't about fightin'."

"It's _all_ about fighting," Ramjohn challenged. "The rest of our lives, ev'ry day, ev'ry moment, from th' point where you overthrew your masters an' decided to start sinking and capturing Tratton's ships. This is war, and now we've got a chance to gain new allies, ones who actually know how to fight better'n most of you lot put together. An' as for Lattie … " He turned his gaze on the ratmaid. "I believe her exact words were, 'There's lots we can do.' Quite a statement to come out with after not having spoken for a full day or more. So whaddya say, missy? Do we grab what we need from Talaga an' run with our lives - which're prob'ly doomed anyways - or do we cause our enemies mischief here at th' one place it'll do 'em some real harm? May be th' last chance we'll ever have fer such an opportunity."

"Gotta beg t' differ with you on that, friend," Cordato said to Ramjohn. "We got yer vessel now - th' one that can shoot Tratton's ships right outta th' water, put 'em on the sea floor 'fore they can touch us. Right now, there's a chance they still don't even know who we are, or what we c'n do - which means we c'n still take 'em by surprise, an' cause 'em more damage that way than anything we'd be able to do on Talaga. Our future's at sea, whatever future we still got, an' this isle'll be our grave if we try'n make a stand here."

"Then it'll be a short future," Ramjohn shot back, "'cos we only got five more of those treetrunk-sized arrows left for ammunition. That's five more ships of Tratton's we can sink, an' then only if we're very lucky an' make every shot count for th' most. After that, all th' _Goodwill_ will be good for is catapult target practice - or maybe boarding an' throat-slittin' practice, an' trust me, those searats won't pass up a chance to practice that on _us_. Not after what we've done to them."

"We got lots more stormpowder," Cordato maintained, "more'n you'll use up on yer five big bolts. When your sea arrows run out, we'll think o' somethin' else. Fly by th' seat o' our tails, like we have been since th' beginnin'. It's worked out fer us so far - thanks t' Lattie."

"Lotsa boompowder in th' fort," Latura said softly, as if in tangential reply to Cordato's acknowledgment of her prophetic guidance of their rebellion.

"No doubt there is, lass," said Cordato. "Ships o' the Fleet put in here all th' time fer provisions, so makes sense they'd swing by Fort Ballaster to restock on stormpowder too. Matter o' fact, the main factory fer manufacturin' that stuff's right on Talaga, inland past th' croplands. Word is, Tratton put it there 'stead of on Terramort in case there was ever an accident an' the whole thing blew, so that it'd just blast a crater in a remote spot rather'n take out his whole castle."

Latura nodded vigorously. "Ayup. Lotsa lotsa boompowder."

"Well, ain't that something?" Ramjohn mused, his eyes alight with possibilities.

"An' it'll all be heavily guarded," Cordato warned, "just like Fort Ballaster, an' we won't be gettin' inta neither one. Can't eat stormpowder, ner drink it neither, so food 'n' drink's still gotta be our top priority. Unless Lattie's got more to reveal than she already has, or further counsel she ain't spoke yet, I say we stick with the original plan: sail past the populated eastern end of Talaga, put ashore someplace mid-isle unseen if we can, resupply from the springs an' crops or warehouses, an' then be on our way fast as we can, 'fore any forces can be sent against us. Naught else makes much sense."

"Sense," Latura echoed absentmindedly, as if in a half-trance.

Ramjohn wasn't ready to accept this, not just yet. "How many of Tratton's ships have you seized or destroyed? He can't afford to let us live, not after what we've done. And he can't just kill or capture us - if he doesn't wanna lose control of his Empire completely, he's got no choice but to make an example of us, to annihilate us in the most dramatic and symbolic way he can, to show he still rules these seas. Well, I say we play his own game, an' make some symbolic strike of our own. An' what better place than here, at th' heart of his power? You led a slave revolt to capture the _Redfoam_. Why not an uprising here too? Why not break into Fort Ballaster, free Urthblood's rats, arm 'em an' let 'em loose on Talaga? Why not sneak into the harbor under cover o' dark an' use stormpowder to sink any ships that're there? Why not burn th' crops an' storehouses, after we've taken what we need for ourselves? Why not chop down some trees while we're here, t' give me an entire hold full o' treetrunk arrows, enough to sink ev'ry ship in Tratton's accursed Fleet? Why not … why not take all of Talaga for ourselves, if we can?"

"Why not? I'll tell ya why not. 'Cos we've got, what, a couple dozen experienced fighters who're worth a lick, at most, while Talaga's got a harbor guard an' a governor's guard an' all those troops at Ballaster as well … an' that's not countin' the crews of any ships that're in fer shore leave or provishunin' on top o' that. We wouldn't just be outnumbered an' outmatched, we'd be overwhelmed ten-t'-one, mebbe twenny-t'-one, by armed an' experienced searats who know their assignments, know their duties an' know that island in a way we don't. It'd be a slaughter, with us on th' dyin' end of it. Now, I know ye're talkin' outta yer grief an' anger over what happened to yer old crew, an' you want revenge 'gainst Tratton fer it, but you've already got it, Ye're cap'n of th' boat Tratton stole from you that you stole back from 'im, you travel in a caravan of four vessels all captured from his Fleet, in th' company of rats who've slain his loyal crews an' sunk some o' his biggest warships. There's lots more damage we c'n do 'im, more ships we c'n sink an' crews we c'n kill, but we gotta be free t' move round the sea lanes t' do it, not bogged down on one isle so he'll know 'xactly where t' send his assembled battle fleet once 'ee finds out. We've all suffered at th' paws of Tratton's rats - th' best of us here used t' be those very rats ourselves - but that's no reason t' chuck all good sense to th' wind an' get ourselves slain down to th' last rat makin' some vain last stand that'd suit yer own thirst fer vengeance. Most of us ain't fighters, case you'd fergot. How well d'you think _they'd_ fare in the kind o' battle ye're proposin'?

"Freein' all of Urthblood's soldierrats would even up the odds quite a bit," Ramjohn countered. "I think we could pull it off."

"You don't even know how many o' that badger's rats're bein' held on Talaga, or what shape they're in. Or where in Fort Ballaster they're bein' stowed. We'd hafta break in without bein' noterced, break 'em out under th' noses of any guards without raisin' an alarm, an' get free without anybeast bein' th' wiser - "

"Unless there's enough there t' take the fortress by storm," the mouse proposed. "Take over Ballaster, an' we'd all but own Talaga - 'specially if we sink any ships in the harbor while we're at it. We'll be catchin' 'em by surprise - no matter where on Talaga we strike, or how, we'll have the element of surprise on our side. They'll not be expectin' anything like what we can unleash on 'em. An' as for how many of Urthblood's rats're there, an' what fightin' shape they're in, well, we'd not know about 'em at all if not for Lattie here." Ramjohn looked to Latura. "What says you, missy? Whaddya see 'bout this? Is this something we could pull off?"

"Lotsa boompowder at th' fort. Lots 'n' lots 'n' lotsa boompowder."

Ramjohn looked back to Cordato. "Or, we sneak in, find their main stormpowder stores, an' light 'em off. Blast Fort Ballaster clear off the face of Talaga, an' all its troops along with it."

Tropsa's eyebrows went up. "That'd be one Hellgates of a diversion fer aught else we're plannin'. Mebbe we could even make it look like an accident, so th' rest of the isle doesn't even know it's an attack."

Cordato levelled a gaze at his fellow captain. "I think you really are lettin' that spyrat masquerade go to yer head. Ye're thinkin' more like one o' Uroza's agents all th' time. But we headed to Talaga fer food an' drink, at Lattie's say so, an' naught else. This ain't time ner place fer any battle we'd like as not lose anyway."

"I'd say that's changed," Ramjohn insisted. "Why else would she've mentioned Urthblood's rats if that wasn't th' case?"

Latura nodded. "Ayup. Lots 'n' lots we c'n do."

Cordato scoffed. "Even if by some miracle we succeed in capturin' all or most of Talaga, or just attack and cause a whole heap of damage an' destruction, Tratton'd come down on us harder'n you c'n imagine. There'll be no place from here to the ends of the earth where we'd be safe, where he'd not chase us down an' slay us to the last rat."

"Then let's not wait for that to happen," Ramjohn said defiantly. "You say he's not even at sea now, that he went inland for some kinda mission or expedition?"

Cordato nodded, dubious as to where this was going. "Aye, accordin' to Lattie, that's where he was headed. Dunno what for, or how long."

"Then he can't know what's been going on out here, even if others have figured it out by now." Ramjohn turned to Latura again. "Can you see where Tratton is now? Will you know when he returns to sea? Will you be able to tell us what ship he's on, and guide us to it?"

Cordato's eyes narrowed, while Tropsa's widened in malicious glee. "You ain't seriously suggestin' … "

Ramjohn nodded. "I say we make Talaga a place no rat loyal to Tratton would wanna be … an' once we're done with that, we go huntin' Tratton with ev'rything we got. Find his ship, sink it, put it and him on the bottom of the sea, an' cut the head off his Empire once an' for all!"

Tropsa was not so quick to shout down this fantastic idea. "We do enuff damage on Talaga, Tratton's Empire might unravel even if we don't sink his own ship. This mouse might be onta sumpthin' … "

"Well, that'd all depend on Lattie, wouldn't it?" Cordato reminded them. "Do you think you could do that, missy? Direct us to Tratton's ship, so we can take it out? Would we have a chance o' doin' that?"

Latura seemed to mull this over, then said, "King Ratty's at Redwall. Talkin' to Martymouse, I think. Not sure about what."

This startled all the others anew, Ramjohn no less than the rest. Tropsa repeated, incredulously, "Tratton's at Redwall?"

"Ayup. Went fer a walk, like I kept sayin' … "

"What in the wide world of wave 'n' wake's he doin' there?" Gramaton wondered, adding his voice to the confabulation for the first time.

Cordato's brow furrowed in thought. "We know he knows of th' strife 'tween that Abbey an' Urthblood, from what Lattie told Trangle an' that spyrat if not through his own sources. Mebbe he's makin' an end run 'round Urthblood to try 'n' forge some kinda alliance or agreement with Redwall, take advantage of the situation an' win a new ally t' stand with 'im against Salam'dastron. Knowin' how things work 'tween those two beasts an' all their schemin', naught would surprise me."

"But, Tratton was already on 'is way to Salam'dastron 'fore he came across us," Tropsa pointed out.

"Then mebbe he knew about it some other way!" Cordato threw off impatiently. "Does it really matter?"

"Naw," Tropsa responded, slowly shaking his head. "Naw, guess not. But what _does_ matter is he's so far inland, he'll likely not be back at sea anytime this season - which gives us plenny o' time t' do whatever we want on Talaga, an' anywhere else too, 'fore Tratton becomes any concern o' ours. Mebbe th' mouse is right. Mebbe we c'n shake things up so much that Tratton barely has any Empire left t' come back to."

"Ye're deluded," Cordato spat. "We're all just spinnin' dreams in the air here, 'bout Fort Ballaster, an' Urthblood's rats there, an' the harbor, an' goin' out an' huntin' down Tratton himself. There's about a thousand ways any o' those could go wrong."

"There were about a thousand ways we never coulda succeeded in sinkin' a dreadnaught," Tropsa reminded him.

"An' about a thousand ways you never could have taken back th' _Goodwill_ , an' put me back as her captain," Ramjohn added.

"Or even taken th' _Redfoam_ in th' first place," Gramaton contributed with somewhat less forceful assurance than the others.

"Uh huh. That's all true. An' y' know what else's true? Lattie was at th' center of alla that, directin' us on what t' do to allow us t' come out on top, each an' ev'ry time. So let's see what she's gotta say about _this_ , shall we?" Cordato turned his interrogatory gaze upon the ratmaid. "So what's it gonna be, Lattie? Did we come to Talaga just fer food an' drink t' keep ourselves alive, or do we stage an attack an' make a fight of it?"

"Oh, there's lots we c'n do."

"That's real helpful. How many o' Urthblood's soldiers 're bein' kept prisoner at Fort Ballaster?"

"Oh, a bunch."

"What kinda fightin' shape 're they in?"

"You'd hafta ask them that, wouldn'tja?"

"Will we be able t' break inta Fort Ballaster to set 'em free?"

"Well, thats up t' you lot, ain't it?"

"Can we get to the fort's stormpowder stores, an' light 'em off? Would that be enuff t' destroy Ballaster?"

"It'd be a real big big boom, it would."

"What about the harbor? How many o' Tratton's warships 're tied up there? What kinda forces would we be up against if we went in that way?"

"Oh, I can't see that. Don't work that way. See what I see, an' that's it."

Cordato straightened and looked to the others in triumph. "Does that sound like any kinda ringin' endorsement fer an attack to any o' you? 'Cos it sure don't to - "

"But we should try'n get that steelboat," Latura added as an interrupting afterthought.

The four captains stood staring at her for a long time in silence. "One o' Tratton's ironclads is at Talaga?" Tropsa asked at last.

Latura nodded. "Big steelboat, all plated on the outside. Big steel fish, no sails. Kinda ugly."

For the first time, Cordato began to reconsider his intransigence. "Well, that rather changes things, don't it?"

"Aye, it does," agreed Tropsa. "Those things're well nigh indestructible an' unsinkable, by all accounts. If we could get our paws on that one, we could go up against any ship in th' Fleet, an' naught could stop 'er."

"Except p'raps another ironclad," Gramaton posited. "At least, I guess?"

"That could be a sea battle fer the ages, ironclad against ironclad." Cordato turned back to Latura. "Could we pull it off? Snatch that ironclad fer ourselves?"

"Don' see why not. Could use more o' them stinkypots t' make 'er rats squint 'n' sputter 'n' choke, make 'em easier t' slay, if y' mean t' slay 'em. Ain't big on slayin' beasts m'self - all kinda sorta nasty."

"Ironclads aren't as big as frigates, or even galleons," Tropsa went on, "or so 'tis said, on account o' all the metal needed t' make 'em. That means she'd have a much smaller crew. Yeah, I think we could do it. I think we could def'nitely do it."

"Dependin' on how heavily she's bein' guarded," said Cordato. "If th' pier's all packed with armed troops, we'll not even be able t' get to 'er."

"Then we blow th' pier," Tropsa proposed. "Along with any other ships tied up to it. Take out th' resistance, top t' bottom, then get away with the ironclad fer our own."

"You make it sound so easy. I'm thinkin' it'll be anything but, an' mebbe the first thing we've tried that we'll not be able t' pull off. What's one of Tratton's ironclads even doin' on Talaga anyways?"

"Brought Queen Ratty," Latura supplied as if this detail were nothing. "Guess she didn't wanna ride on a wood boat."

Yet another stunned silence fell over the group as all stared at her. "Queen Regelline, she's on Talaga?" Tropsa asked. "Right now?"

"Well sure, right now. Queen Ratty, Prince Ratty, they're both there."

Cordato scowled. "There ain't no royal prince, Lattie."

"Sure there is." She held her paws apart to suggest a bundle slightly larger than a generous loaf of bread. "All pink 'n' wrinkly 'n' new."

Cordato's eyes widened. "Regelline's given birth to an heir? She an' Tratton've got an heir now?"

"That's just th' kind o' secret that sea tyrant'd keep close to 'is breast," Tropsa mulled. "If true, not surprisin' we're only just learnin' of it now, an' thru Lattie. We might be some o' the first rats outside Talaga an' Terramort to know of it."

"This could complicate things," Cordato said, rubbing at his chin fur. "This could complicate 'em quite a bit. If she's on Talaga, she'll have a royal guard of 'er own, in addition to any other ship's crews an' harbor guards an' all the soldiers at Fort Ballaster. Could be Talaga'll be locked up tight an' clamped down inta near martial law. That'd make any landing or movement on our part a real trick."

"Then again," Tropsa said slowly, an idea in his head clearly forming even as he spoke the words, "if we could grab the Queen, an' her whelp too, we'd be able t' hold 'em hostage 'gainst half the Empire. There's nothing we could ask for that Tratton wouldn't give us to keep his Queen an' heir safe."

"You'd never get anywhere near 'em," Cordato maintained. "An' even if y' could, that'd be far too dangerous a game to play. Tratton would come after us with ev'rything he's got, even as he's negotiatin' with us. How would we even negotiate such a thing anyways? An' what's to stop him from blastin' us inta oblivion once we let 'em free? It'd only take one small misstep in any o' that fer things t' go horribly, horribly wrong."

"Then we don't let 'em go," Tropsa bit off.

"What, hold 'em hostage indef'nitely? You really think Tratton'd stand fer that?"

"Then we kill 'em."

All eyes turned to Ramjohn. "Kill 'em?" Cordato repeated, incredulous.

"Aye," the mouse affirmed, grim as death. "Take out the Queen an' heir here, then take out Tratton once he's back at sea. This whole fur-forsaken Empire will collapse after that. Ain't that what you all want? Revenge against all the rats who wronged you, who enslaved you? What better revenge than to bring the whole thing crashing down on their heads?"

Cordato gave a nod, but not of support. "We slay Regelline an' her babe, then you can bet we _will_ be fightin' Tratton to the death. He'll insist on it, once he learns."

"But he _won't_ learn," countered Ramjohn. "We just went over that. He's at Redwall, far inland, where news of what happens here can't reach him."

"Oh, we do what ye're proposin', I think his cap'ns'll find a way to get word to him."

"A moment ago you seemed on board with the idea of stealin' his iron ship, if we could get away with it. You think that'd peeve Tratton any great deal less than slayin' his wife an' son?"

"He can allers build more ships. He's got but one Queen, an' now, but one heir too. So yeah, I think he'd take that extra pers'nal. That bein' said … " Cordato turned to Tropsa. "Tropps, you say we got some rats on board who've actshully been inside Ballaster, an' know its ways 'n' layout?"

"Aye?"

"Well, let's get 'em out here an' pick their brains, see if there's aught we might be able t' do with that place. Then … we'll see."

At that very moment, as the rebel rats of the Redfoam scrambled to deliberate their next move, off to the south and just below the horizon a lone fleetrunner skimmed along the wavetops, making all good speed with full sails and threshing oars as she bore her dark master urgently onward to Talaga.


	65. Chapter LXIV

**LXIV.**

 **REDWALL**

The spot along the east walltop seemed to hold some special attraction for Tratton, since the Searat King found himself up there again for the second day in a row.

The day after Nameday saw Redwall in a more languid mood, recovering from the feasting and drinking and celebration of the seasonal festival. No classes were held, most chores were put off and many beasts slept late, having been up well past midnight. In that spirit, Tratton accepted Vanessa's invitation to join her for a late breakfast on the battlements as a casual suggestion rather than any manner of imperative, and ambled up to the ramparts with Talarek at his side and no special purpose or agenda in mind.

Down on the lawns, Winokur and Maura looked up at the Abbess and the searats, the trio lounging in relaxed if studied conversation. The otter Recorder had hardly failed to note how their secret Warrior had kept their nautical visitors to herself all the previous day, and puzzled at how she continued to do so.

"Vanessa certainly seems to be sticking close to Redclaw," he observed.

"Well, good for her, I say," Maura responded. "If anybeast around here can keep a searat captain in line - or find out what he's truly on about - it's her. Geoff certainly seems relieved to have that ruffian taken off his paws, and quite content to let Nessa have Redclaw all to herself. I'd say it's all working out as best it can, considering who we're dealing with."

"Yes," Winokur muttered, "But just who _is_ that?"

The Badgermum regarded him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"Look at them, up there." Wink gestured with his paw toward the walltop. "Conversing away where nobeast can hear what they're saying. How is Geoff fond of putting it? 'Thick as thieves?' Well, that's what it looks like to me."

"And this bothers you?" Maura surmised, reading both his mood and his tone. "Why?"

"Because it reminds me of how she was with _us_ when she first took us into her confidence. About her … big secret. And now that I can imagine what it's like to be on the outside looking in at such an open conspiracy, I can't help but wonder just what secrets they're sharing between them, that we're being excluded from."

"You don't suppose she's … told them? Who she really is?"

"Can't imagine why she would, except maybe to try and scare them off … and they don't look scared to me. No, I think she'd have far more to lose than to gain by doing that. But it does have me curious … most curious indeed."

"Have you discussed this with the Colonel at all? Or Traveller?"

"Our fellow conspirators? No, I haven't - on the off chance that they might be two of the very creatures Nessa means to exclude from her current consultations."

"Well, there you go then. If Vanessa is holding us at arm's length about this, I'm sure she's got a very good reason for doing so. We'll just have to trust her on this, like we've trusted her all along."

Winokur continued to gaze upward, the look in his eyes suggesting he wasn't about to let it go at that. "Oh, I trust her. But I never could abide a secret that was past its time. I think it's high time I go have a word with our Abbess and our guests, and see how they're enjoying their stay at Redwall."

As Winokur strode across the lawn toward the wallstairs, Maura followed him with her eyes, murmuring to herself, "I hope you know what you're doing, 'Greenpup,' and don't go sticking your muzzle someplace where it's only going to cause trouble."

Vanessa noted Wink's unbidden approach with an air of bemusement while Tratton and Talarek looked on with heightened alertness, having become so accustomed to the Abbess keeping them to herself that the intrusion of anybeast else into their little circle elicited wary suspicion. However, the mouse's relaxed attitude of welcome, combined with the green-robed otter's posture of honest openness, set the two searats' minds at ease.

"Hope I'm not interrupting?" Winokur greeted them with his typical earnestness, opting for an introduction which would leave room for Vanessa to let him know if she found his presence inconvenient. He saw immediately that she intended no rebuff, waving her paw for him to join them.

"Not at all, Brother Winokur. Plenty of bench space for all of us! Help yourself to a seat - we'd be glad to have you, since I'm sure these two must be getting quite bored of me by now!"

Tratton/Redclaw favored Vanessa with one-eyed appraisal. "One thing I c'n assure you ye ain't, Abbess, is boring!" Nonetheless, this forced cheer couldn't entirely hide the air of probing wariness with which the red-garbed rat and especially his more drably-appointed guard regarded the newcomer.

"No, she's definitely not that," Winokur agreed with a knowing smile as he settled his rudder down on the stone bench alongside Vanessa, on her other paw from the two searats; while he was not especially brawny for an otter, Winokur still stood somewhat taller and broader than the two nautical rodents, and didn't wish to risk intimidating them in any way by bookending them between himself and his clandestine Warrior. "So, what are we talking about?"

"The good captain wishes to know what can be done about our frictions with Lord Urthblood, and how he may assist with that." Vanessa eyed the rat in red. "Or perhaps he just seeks to discover how he might exploit these tensions for his own advantage."

Redclaw drew back in mock affront. "Abbess, you wound me!"

"Why? It's what I would do, were I in your place."

Winokur glanced from one to the other, a vague smirk hovering on his lips. "Is this typical of how all your conversations have gone?"

"More 'r less, sonny," Redclaw replied. "She's got hidden depths, this one 'as!"

"Indeed she does." Winokur regarded Vanessa, who sat striking a most neutral and unassuming pose. "Including some I trust she's not revealed to you. All of which makes her the ideal Redwaller to play host to you. But as far as aiding us with our troubles concerning Urthblood, I would think such matters would lie beyond the purview of a mere ship's captain - no offense intended."

Redclaw smile-scowled. "None taken. An' I ain't 'xactly just any old ship's cap'n. I rank 'n' rate rather high in the Empire, I'll 'ave you know, an' all I hear here'll reach King Tratton's ears, you c'n be sure o' that."

"Actually, I was already quite confident that would be the case. Do you mind if I ask you a question … Captain?"

"Aye, sure, what?"

Winokur's gaze fastened on the red-embroidered eye covering. "What color is your other eye under that patch?"

Redclaw's jovial manner disappeared as the rat looked to Vanessa. "You tell him, marm?"

"I didn't have to. Remember I told you Wink's a sharp one, and with his innate knack for history, I suspected he might put two and two together on his own."

The red rat returned his gaze to Winokur. "Just who d'you think ye're addressin' now, pup?"

"Somebeast who normally speaks much better than you just did, unless I miss my guess. Might I have the unique honor of addressing His Royal Majesty, the King of the Searats?"

"Hrm. What if I was t' say yes?"

"Then I'd pat myself on the back, and write an especially long journal entry tonight."

"Better start flexing your writing paw now, then," Vanessa said with one of her typical mischievous smiles.

Winokur sat regarding Tratton over Vanessa's shoulder. "Well, this is a truly historic milestone then. So, what prompts the King of the Searats to visit Redwall, and at this time?"

Instantly and with no transition, Tratton dropped his gruff, unrefined captain's persona and eased into his genuine, authentic bearing, allowing Winokur to see the measured and calculating rat behind the feigned, uncouth bluster, and even guess at the lean and trim fighter hidden beneath the padded silks.

"There's naught I've told you about _that_ already that hasn't been entirely true. I may have been playing the part of a pretend character named Redclaw, but everything I said as that rat about my purpose for visiting Mossflower was on the mark. I wished to tour the inner lands to see them for myself, now that peace holds between me and Urthblood, and experience something no searat ruler before me has experienced. To come to Mossflower - to come to Redwall - in peace as a mere traveller and journeybeast rather than an aggressor, and to converse and break bread with the good folk of these lands, and be taken in and welcomed as a guest as I have here … I do not keep a journal myself, except perhaps for the one I keep up here - " Tratton tapped at his temple with one red-dyed claw, " - but I will have much to add to my store of memories by the time this trip is over."

"And why Redclaw?" the otter Recorder inquired. "Does that identity carry any significance, aside from the obvious one about blood?"

Tratton mulled this over, as if weighing how much of his own personal history he wished to share with his woodland hosts. "Did you know that in my youth as a lowly deckpaw I went by the name Whiteclaw?"

Winokur nodded. "Lord Urthblood has told us of this - and that that was in fact the name you still went by when the two of you first met."

"A name I despised - a name forced upon me by others as a form of ridicule at an age when I was powerless to decline it or shake it off. I gained some measure of revenge by working my way up to ship's captain, so that my crew would speak that name with fear and respect, but secretly I still detested it for the indignity of its origins. Tratton - now there is a name befitting the ruler of all searats! A name which could tear the world apart, is it not?"

"Claws can tear things apart as well," Winokur observed, "be they white, or any other color."

"I do agree that I like Tratton better," Vanessa admitted, then added with an impish smile, "Who came up with it, you or Urthblood?"

Tratton gave a grimace only made more scornful by his red costume. "Have you Abbeyfolk perchance heard of my naval defeat at Salamandastron the spring before last?"

"We have," Winokur replied quickly, sensing that Vanessa might be about to uncork another riposte at the Searat King's expense.

"As you can imagine, in a Kingdom such as mine, such loss will be perceived as weakness, and vulnerability. Just as I gained the throne of Terramort by putting down any competitors, so others in my command saw that moment as a chance to put me down and install a new king on the throne. It only made sense that the most powerful Searat Empire in history would also see the greatest mutiny in history after suffering the most devastating battle losses in history."

"That's a lot of history there," Winokur remarked. "So, how did you handle that?"

"By slaying them all, of course. Every single one of them - with one exception. He lost only his arm, and his tongue. The throne room floor ran red with blood that day, and when I walked through that steaming, stinking aftermath - " Tratton stuck out one leg, " - my footpaws were this color … but not from some innocuous dyes. On that day, Whiteclaw was buried forever - and Redclaw was born in his place."

While Winokur could only put on an expression of distaste over the relating of this macabre and gruesome tale, Vanessa said, "And we are expected to establish peaceful relations with a tyrant capable of the carnage you have just described?"

"We are not at war, Abbess, so peace is what we already have. And as for the establishment of any relations more formal than that, who's to say that's what either of us seeks?"

Vanessa smiled demurely. "Why do I suspect you'd not have tramped all the way here for mere pleasantries between not-at-war non-acquaintances? Tell us what you have on your mind, Your Majesty, and let us see what may be done about it, if it should be to our mutual benefit."

Tratton put on a secret smile of his own. "What are you proposing, Abbess? A treaty?"

"It couldn't very well be a treaty, could it, since as you yourself just pointed out, Redwall and Terramort are not currently engaged in hostilities between each other. Perhaps more of an … accord?"

Tratton gave a half-scowl. "I think I may have had enough of accords for the next many seasons, Abbess."

"Then don't call it an accord," Vanessa proposed, even as Winokur sat up straighter and sharper than before, intrigued to full alertness by this turn in the conversation. "I can't say I blame you for such an attitude, considering the badger you've been forced to deal with. So let's call it a pact - an understanding between friends, with no strings attached and no onerous conditions imposed … not that either of us would be in any position to enforce them, once you leave us and return to the coast. A promise, made official between the leaders of Redwall and Terramort, that we will never trouble or act against each other."

"First off, Abbess, if we'd not be in any position to enforce terms upon each other, then we'd not likely be able to easily threaten each other either. So, in that sense, a pact between us would be pointless. Secondly, it would be rather difficult for the 'leaders' of Redwall and Terramort to reach any formal agreement here, since you're not the Abbot, and as far as he knows, I'm just some lackey of the true King of the Searats. Unless you're planning to let him in on this secret as well?"

Vanessa stifled a sputtering outburst of laughter. "Geoff? Told who you really are? Oh, that would never work! Geoff is a dear soul, but he's absolutely horrible at keeping secrets. If we did that, we might as well dispatch heralds to every corner of Mossflower trumpeting the news that the Searat King is at Redwall. No no, much better if we keep this between as few beasts as possible. As for your hidden identity creating problems in terms of signing any agreements we reach, I'm sure something can be worked out. We're very good at figuring out solutions to such things here at Redwall."

"I'm still not sure I even see any advantages to what you propose, Abbess - for either of us."

Vanessa tried a new tack, with a seeming abrupt shift of subject. "Your Majesty, do you see your Accord with Urthblood holding indefinitely, or do you imagine war might break out between you again? Do you in fact view that as a strong possibility? Might you even now be preparing for an impending renewal of hostilities?"

"No moreso, I'm sure, than Urthblood himself."

"A safe answer. But let us assume the worst does come to pass, and let us further assume that Redwall does not sit on the sidelines this time - not farfetched at all, considering how Urthblood already intrudes into Mossflower and involves us in his affairs. Now, if you learn nothing else about us during your time here, Your Majesty, let it be that the forces of Redwall, when sufficiently stirred and provoked, have historically proven capable of overcoming any foe and altering the course of events in the wider lands - and even sometimes at sea - to our advantage. Perhaps later Brother Winokur here can give you a brief rundown of some examples, since our history is his specialty, but it's something I think you'll certainly want to keep in mind as we proceed."

"If Redwall is so capable of exerting its influence over the lands as you claim, why have you not moved against Urthblood, in response to his affronts against you?"

"Who says we haven't?"

Tratton digested this tidbit, dropped with the Abbess's typical knowing casualness. "If you refer to the clash in the Plains, I understand that that cost the lives of two of your hares and an additional number of your shrew allies, without winning back the ratmaid you sought, or loosening Urthblood's grip on Mossflower. And if it's some other manner of resistance you have in mind, you'd best act quickly, or else you risk losing all your home forestlands to that badger."

"Something tells me Urthblood will not be having things all his own way - although what transpires between us now might help to ensure that he doesn't."

"Tell me more."

"Bearing in mind what I just told you of Redwall's previous long history of affecting the tide of events far beyond our walls, I should imagine you would welcome any opportunity to guarantee that, should hostilities resume between you and Urthblood, you would not find yourself confronting Urthblood and Redwall both."

"That … hardly seems likely, considering the current tensions between your Abbey and Salamandastron. I can't see you easily setting aside your disagreements with Urthblood to stand with him as allies."

"It all depends on how events unfold, doesn't it? Or can't you imagine Urthblood manipulating the situation to leave us little choice but to stand with him against you?"

Tratton's brow furrowed even as the corners or his mouth turned down. "That badger is not to be trusted … but then, I don't have to tell you that, do I? I know a thing or two of treachery, but Urthblood could school me like a suckling babe on such matters. So, what do you have in mind, Abbess?"

"A way to guarantee that, should you ever face Urthblood in battle again, you'll not have to worry about facing us as well. A simple pledge that, as long as neither of us engages in aggression directly upon the other, we will be sworn not to join in any alliance against the other either. We would not join Urthblood in any war against searats … and you would never join him in any war against Redwall."

Now Tratton did laugh. "Me? Join Urthblood in a war against _you_? Is this truly a worry that keeps you up at night, Abbess?"

"We'll not go into what keeps me up at night, Your Majesty. But our Long Patrol have long worried that you and Urthblood might be plotting together to conquer all the lands and divide the spoils between the two of you."

"Then those hares need to get out of their burrows more often. I have never had an alliance with Urthblood, and never plan to. The closest we ever came to that was when he went to sea with me and helped me overcome Farca and Garwal - and even then I suspect he acted far more in his own interests than mine."

Winokur showed keen historian's interest in this turn in the conversation. "Oh, yes! We'll want to hear much more about _that_! Especially since we've only ever heard Urthblood's side of his sea travels, and not much at that. This can help fill in some of the blank spaces and answer some of the questions which have nagged at us about that entire episode."

"I may be able to shed light on some of that," Tratton acceded, "although there may be details on the matter I'd prefer not to divulge, since my travels with Urthblood did eventually take us to Terramort, my current seat of power - and the less said about that, the better. At least for me."

"Just how did the followers of Farca and Garwal take to your ascension to the throne?" Vanessa inquired. "Did they cause you any great trouble during your rise to power, once their two competing captains were disposed of?"

"Having that badger at my side did discourage contrary attitudes along those lines," the searat admitted. "Also, taking Garwal's daughter Regelline as my Queen helped to smooth over the waters quite a bit, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Winokur was fumbling in his habit pockets for his journal and quill even as Vanessa's eyebrows went up. "Garwal's daughter, your Queen?" the mouse said. "Now that is news to us."

"How do you spell Regelline?" Winokur inquired, looking to set this detail down on paper while the iron was hot.

Nessa shot him a glance. "Time for that later, Wink."

"Oh, uh … "

"Besides, your stylus isn't even inked."

"Um, right." Abashed, the otter Recorder replaced the book and pen back in his pocket. Looking to Tratton, he asked, "So, is there some truth to the assertion that Urthblood helped put you on the throne of Terramort, Your Majesty?"

Tratton frowned. "The exact extent of his influence in my rise remains in some dispute. I hardly stood idly by and let him arrange the whole thing - nor do I remain on the throne through any help from _him_."

"Still," Vanessa mused, "I doubt he would have allowed a situation entirely contrary to his own interests to develop during his voyages. One might even deem it safe to say he would not have allowed you to claim the throne at all if he did not want such a thing."

"Yes," Tratton bit off, "one might say that. Whether it is true … " The rat shrugged.

"So, back to our pact .. " Vanessa prompted.

"An intriguing proposal," Tratton ceded, "but perhaps a fruitless one as well, since there's a very good chance that, once I leave your Abbey, I will never set foot in Redwall or Mossflower ever again, and then such a treaty would be meaningless. My domain is the sea, and I have no interest in expanding my realm into the lands."

"Except perhaps for Salamandastron, hm?"

"Claiming that mountain has been the dream and ambition of sealords immemorial, Abbess. But if you think I would not have gained Terramort without that badger's influence, then I can hardly hope to capture Salamandastron while Urthblood stands against me, can I?"

"In any event, if Urthblood could draft you into helping him with his own aims at sea, whatever those were, and could prosecute a war against you so ruinous as to leave you no choice but to treat with him, and impose upon you conditions you might not have preferred, then who's to say he might not orchestrate events so that you someday find yourself on the path to war with Redwall, either singly or in alliance with Urthblood? You should not wish for any such outcome, any more than you should wish to face us and Urthblood united against you. An agreement reached now between the two of us can protect us both from such a possibility, since I can assure you that Redwall on its own has no interest whatsoever in confronting you out at sea, and you have just stated you harbor no designs against us. This way, should Urthblood seek to enlist either of us in a conflict with the other, he will find himself standing alone, his schemes frustrated. This should grant us both a little added peace of mind, whatever the future holds. What say you?"

"Hm. Intriguing, as I say. But what's to stop either of us from submitting to Urthblood's will, if he's as all-powerful as you paint him?"

"Our spines, for one thing. But he is far from all-powerful. He has known defeats, and setbacks, and all this without Redwall moving into full, open opposition to him. Perhaps we never will, or will never have to. But we can make one claim in this regard that you cannot."

"And that is?"

"We have never been manipulated by Urthblood into taking action that goes against our beliefs or our interests. Yes, he has deceived us, using Redwall as a false diversion to lure his brother out of Salamandastron so he could claim that mountain for his own, but that required no action on our part, and once we saw what manner of beast we were dealing with - and especially once the Long Patrol settled here among us, where they could constantly remind and caution us against his treachery - we viewed him with the mixed suspicion of a creature not to be entirely trusted. And this has safeguarded us from falling prey to any of his machinations which might ensnare us."

"I fail to see where that would make any difference, Abbess. I myself knew he was not to be trusted long before open war broke out between us, and that hardly saved me from being forced to the bargaining table and left little choice but to accept the conditions imposed upon me. The fact that those conditions turned out to be nowhere near as onerous as they could have been does little to change the hard truth that Urthblood could have set any terms he wished, and I would have been in no position to decline. As it was with me, so might you find it with yourselves. He could start a war with you which would leave your backs pressed to your own red walls here, and no room to do anything but offer your surrender and accept whatever terms he deigns to offer. Then you might find yourselves forced into things you'd never have imagined you would do."

"Imagine then how much better it would be for us on that day if we find ourselves facing only Urthblood and not the combined might of Salamandastron and Terramort together. That by itself might mean the difference between victory and defeat for us. And imagine how much better for _you_ if you never have to face Urthblood and Redwall united against you."

"But, Abbess, if you already stand at such odds with Urthblood that you would consider a pact with me so beneficial, what are the chances you would ever join with him, be it against me or for any other cause?"

"Then you would have nothing to lose in signing such a pact, would you?"

"And nothing to gain, either, Why tie my own paws over something which will likely never come to pass?"

"That, only you can answer, Your Majesty. I simply brought it up as a gesture of friendship between Redwall and Terramort, a way for the two of us to show we harbor no ill intent toward each other. I mean, when else can we expect the King of the Searats to be paying us a visit?"

"She's right, Your Majesty," Winokur quickly seconded. "Your presence here represents an unprecedented historical occasion, and a unique opportunity as well. To let it pass without availing ourselves of it would, I believe, be folly. You say you came to us in peace, and bear Redwall no malice. What better way to demonstrate that, and to commemorate this landmark occurrence, than with a formal treaty swearing nonaggression between us? Even as just a symbolic agreement, it would carry weight and bestow upon you a legitimacy you'd otherwise lack with the creatures of Mossflower, and if we were to move beyond the merely symbolic, who can predict how it might benefit you?"

"I'm still not sure I see any benefit … to me."

"Sure you do," Vanessa corrected, her tone becoming firmly forthright. "The same benefit you and Urthblood vie for at this very moment in Southsward. You both seek influence in regions you don't currently control outright. Well, here's your chance. You may or may not prevail in that southern kingdom, but here stands Redwall, steward of all Mossflower, already at odds with Urthblood and receptive to negotiation with you, even as you sit here before us. I know you would see Urthblood denied in any way possible, and forging an alliance - even a largely ceremonial one which merely guarantees we don't attack each other - would deprive him of options and limit his freedom of movement. How do you suppose the many, many good creatures of these lands would take it if they see us cooperating with searats even as we rebuff the Badger Lord of Salamandastron, who already overreaches far beyond the liking of many of our neighbors? If you fail to see the advantage in this to yourself, then you'd best tailor another eyepatch to match the one you've already got, because you are blind. And I very much trust you are not blind to such opportunities, Your Majesty."

Talarek stiffened at this borderline insolence toward his King, while Tratton stiffened for an entirely different reason. "How much do you know of what I seek to achieve in Southsward?"

"I have surmised all I need to know. So now that I have your attention, let us stop playing word games and get down to brass tacks, as the old saying goes. What assurances would you expect of us, and what are you willing to concede to us to make this work?"

"Concede, Abbess? Why should I have to concede anything? You yourself said that this pact will simply ensure that we agree not to engage in hostilities against each other unless directly provoked. Why should additional conditions be attached?"

"There are always conditions, Your Majesty. And in this case, they are not so much for ourselves as for others in greater need. Let us speak of rats, Majesty - not searats, but those of the lands. Those in chains already, those threatened with such a fate, those here with us who dare not step one pace outside our walls … " Vanessa looked meaningfully up at Winokur. "And of one other rat in particular."


	66. Chapter LXV

**LXV.**

 **MOSSFLOWER**

Altidor decided he would make three stops that day.

The first - a late addition to his itinerary - would be at Redwall, to let Sergeant Poinsett know all that was going on. Even though her escort duties with Tratton had no direct bearing on either the resettlement campaign or Kyslith's recall from Foxguard, her mission might still see her interacting with those involved in such matters, and both the golden eagle and Matowick had felt Poinsett should be kept abreast of events, especially to be prepared in case Tratton started asking questions about any of it.

Altidor stood before the Gawtrybe sergeant to issue his report, unheeding of all the curious heads which had appeared along the Abbey battlements above in response to his arrival, but somewhat more attentive to the searats clustered outside the walls along with Poinsett's squirrels.

"Where is Tratton?" Altidor probed after covering the main points of his news.

"Inside, along with his head guardsrat. The Abbeybeasts allowed him to stay for their seasonal festival, but apparently two searats was the most they could stomach at a time for such an occasion."

"He fares well with them?"

"They've let him out a few times to assure his rats he's under no threat or duress, so it seems to be going as well as can be expected. It's not clear why he's looking to spend so much time at Redwall, or why these folk indulge his presence to this extent. I really thought we'd be moving on after a day here, but he's given no indication that he plans to depart anytime in the immediate future."

"Does he plan to visit Foxguard after Redwall?"

"He still hasn't said. With Jaffox there, we'd all rather he didn't, but it would look too suspicious now if we denied him, so … "

"Tratton is sharp. Here or at Foxguard, or anywhere else along the way, he may notice the sudden lack of gulls overhead. Distract him as best you can, but be prepared for what you will say if he inquires."

"I don't see why this would be an issue. He knew before we left Salamandastron that Lord Urthblood had likely voyaged to Southsward, and surmised what for, so a redeployment of our gulls might almost seem routine. My more direct concern is Kyslith. Shall we wait for him to join our company, so we can escort him back to the coast?"

"If Tratton does decide to travel on to Foxguard after Redwall, you can rendezvous with Kyslith there, and take him into your company when you depart. Again, you may need to deflect any questions from Tratton which might reveal more of the situation to him than we would prefer he know."

"I don't see much danger there. Tratton already knows Lord Urthblood's chief glassmaker is dead - having slain that marten himself - so it only stands to reason we'd assign a replacement to Salamandastron."

"Yes, but Tratton doesn't know how many glassmakers we have, or who they are. If Kyslith does join your company when you return to the coast, it may be wise not to advertise his identity or occupation to the searats."

"Why? Do you think he … you can't possibly suspect … "

"Trelayne may have been an unfortunate accident of happenstance. The next glassmaker to die at Tratton's paw may not be. If Tratton sees an opportunity to deprive us of a second strategic craftsbeast on the same expedition, he might consider that too good a chance to pass up."

"Why should he even care how many glassmakers we have? It's not like we'll be going to war again with him anytime soon." Poinsett studied Altidor with a measure of concern. "Or do you know something you're not telling me, Commodore?"

"All assets are to be protected. All eventualities are to be anticipated. We have already lost one important asset this season, and we do not need to be risking another."

"Understood. And if Tratton decides _not_ to visit Foxguard?"

"Then tarry here an extra day, if you can, so that Kyslith may cross the Moss to join you before you depart Redwall. You can dispatch a Gawtrybe messenger to let Tolar know to send Kyslith along to you. Otherwise, he will just have to make it to Salamandastron on his own, with escorts assigned to him by Tolar or Custis."

"I'm starting to think that might be preferable. Now, with all the birds being pulled back from Mossflower, can we expect any aerial escort at all for the remainder of our expedition, wherever it takes us? Tratton's sure to notice _that_ , even if he doesn't notice the sudden absence of the gulls."

"Perhaps Captain Saugus can be spared for such detail. Klystra and I will likely be too busy with matters in Southsward. We may find ourselves fully engaged in that southern kingdom, or in making flights between Southsward and Salamandastron. You will have to make do with just one owl."

Poinsett nodded. "We'll get by, and make it work."

Finishing with the Gawtrybe sergeant, Altidor took to the wing again and flapped his way across the Moss to Foxguard, where Tolar and Jaffox quickly turned out to take his report on the low battlements. The eagle looked from one fox to the other, contrasting the Sword's dour - and puffy-eyed - surliness to the Northlander's casual good cheer. "How are you two getting along?"

"Just fine 'n' dandy," Jaffox replied with a fang-filled grin. "Jus' like a cap'n an' his top lieutenant should!"

"We've not killed each other yet," Tolar added with a nasal sniff, wiping his paw across his snout. "What news do you bring today, Commodore?"

The golden eagle regarded Tolar. "Are you well, Sword?"

"He's been feelin' a bit under th' weather, our good Sword has," Jaffox supplied with an almost gleeful enthusiasm.

"Just a nuisance of a summer cold," Tolar elucidated, waving off the bird's concern over his feverish appearance and raspy voice. "It's nothing."

"Nothing?" Jaffox contested with playful malice. "Weren't even able to keep yer breakfast down, from what I hear, Sword. P'raps you should return t' bed, an' let me handle this for you."

Tolar disregarded Jaffox with a surly scowl. "What news, Commodore?"

Altidor studied the sickly swordsbeast for a moment, then gave a half-shrug of his wing blades. "New developments from Southsward," he began, just as he had with Poinsett. "An unknown species of savage lizard threatens those lands, and the Squirrel King has tasked Lord Urthblood with eliminating this menace, with an alliance as the reward if he succeeds. His Lordship has formulated a strategy which entails large-scale use of his avian forces. Therefore, he is recalling all gulls from Mossflower for this effort."

"All gulls?" Tolar repeated dully. "Then who will fly surveillance for the resettlement campaign?"

"Nobird. Northern Mossflower is mostly cleared already, by all reports. Captain Custis can either suspend the campaign until the gulls are available again, or carry on without them. But for now, the gulls are needed elsewhere."

Jaffox snorted. "That squirrel? Suspend 'is campaign? He'd sooner stick wood slivers under his toeclaws, I'd bet!"

"Are any being reassigned from Salamandastron itself?" Tolar asked, moving on to a new concern, even if it didn't affect him directly.

"No. The winged defenses of the mountain are to be kept at full strength to cover for redeployment of ground forces of late, and cannot be spared. Gulls will be recalled from Mossflower only."

"That's actually a relief to hear," said Tolar. "With how short-pawed things have gotten there, I'd worried whether the remaining defenders are up to any crisis that might find them."

"Lord Urthblood anticipates no renewed hostilities, but wants his gulls to remain there as a deterrent."

"Wise move," Jaffox weighed in. "How much longer does he expect t' be in Southsward?"

"It could be some time. He arrived to find the searats had already opened diplomatic negotiations with Floret, after a fashion, and even now they both continue to contest with each other for the Squirrel King's favor. Their competing strategies must be demonstrated and evaluated, and then the winner must work with the Southswarders to implement the campaign against the lizards. I would not expect him back before season's end."

"Sure we'll manage jus' fine without 'im," Jaffox told the eagle. "We're all profesh'nuls here, an' know what needs t' be done. You tell him not t' hurry back on our account."

Altidor cocked his head at the big fox. "Considering the source of those assurances, Commander, should I be worried?"

Jaffox's smile disappeared. "Leave fox business to us foxes, Commodore, hm?"

"It's all Lord Urthblood's business, and I would advise you to remember that, always. He'd not be happy to return from Southsward, no matter how things go for him there, to find a mess awaiting him here."

"I'm sure he'll find just what he wants to find. After all, he's not foreseen any crisis befalling Foxguard, has he? If 'ee had, I'm sure he'da done sumpthin' about it, wouldn't he?"

"It is not our place to presume what His Lordship knows or doesn't know, or what actions he has taken to meet anything he has foreseen. Therefore, it would behoove each of you to do nothing … unbecoming."

"Yah, alright," Jaffox begrudgingly conceded. "No mess fer Lord Urthblood."

"Now, about Kyslith," Altidor went on. "Lord Urthblood has ordered that he be recalled to Salamandastron, as anticipated. If Sergeant Poinsett's company travels on to Foxguard at Tratton's request, Kyslith can join them when they leave. Otherwise, Gawtrybe will have to be assigned to escort him to the coast. Either way, we'll expect him to depart in the coming days."

"Hope 'ee fares better'n the last glassmaker who set off that way," Jaffox said with a smirk.

"So it's still not decided whether Tratton will be visiting Foxguard?" Tolar snuffled.

"Clearly not. Sergeant Poinsett had no insight as to why Tratton tarries at Redwall or what he discusses with the Abbeybeasts there, and I did not speak with him just now. He will move on in his own time, it seems, and in the direction of his choosing. Be ready to receive him if he appears, and be ready to send Kyslith off in good time should you observe Tratton departing Redwall and marching north, south or west away from you."

"We'll make sure o' that," Jaffox assured the eagle. "Never saw any use in havin' a glassmaker here anyway, so it'll be good t' be rid o' him - less space he's takin' up, less food 'n' drink he's usin' up, an' less distraction he'll be providin' fer our Sword's lovely mate."

Tolar refused to rise to this bait, or perhaps he simply wasn't feeling up to doing so. "Was there anything else to report, or expected of us, Commodore?"

"No, that is all. Any further changes will be relayed to you, by wing or by mirror."

"What of affairs in the searat realm?"

Altidor regarded the fox Sword as if this inquiry was irrelevant. "What of them?"

"Well, this is the first time Tratton has ventured far beyond the Empire he's built. What do his other captains and commanders make of it? Do affairs run smoothly in his absence, or has there been any … upset as a result of his prolonged time away from Terramort?"

"We have detected nothing of note. It could well be that Tratton kept his current expedition a secret from most of his fellow searats, who will not learn of it until after his return, if even then. We cannot know what his plans and intentions are in regard to his own subjects."

"Still curious why he decided t' do it at all," Jaffox said with an air of suspicion. "Don't reckon he's here at Lord Urthblood's bidding, do ya?"

Altidor cocked a puzzled head at the big fox. "Not that His Lordship has shared with any of us. Tratton's arrival at Salamandastron seems to have taken us all by surprise, as did his proposal to journey to Mossflower, and Lord Urthblood has given no indication that he foresaw such a thing either."

"That's rather a big thing to've escaped 'is future sight," Jaffox opined. "Which means we can't trust that rat, whatever 'ee's got planned - includin' why 'ee's takin' so long at Redwall. Not sure we c'n trust those Abbeyfolk neither, way they been actin' 'gainst Lord Urthblood in these parts. Searat King an' rebel-minded woodlanders - who c'n say what they're cookin' up 'tween 'em behind those walls? Could be that's what brought Tratton here in th' first place, lookin' fer a way t' stir up trouble behind our own lines."

Tolar shot Jaffox a withering, bloodshot-eyed glance. "Custis had Redwall stirred up against the Purge long before Tratton ever got to Salamandastron, much less Mossflower."

"Yeah, but he wouldn'ta if all those rats hadn't made it to Redwall first. An' remind me, Sword, how'd that happen agin?"

"They had a rat prophetess who warned them to flee there."

"Sez them. Woulda liked t' get that seer o' theirs alone, an' seen how her future woulda looked then."

"Lord Urthblood and Captain Matowick made sure none of us would have that chance, stealing her away from Redwall as they did …"

Altidor left the two squabbling foxes to fly on to his third and final stop: Gawdrey. Even though most everybeast at Foxguard knew or had guessed that the squirrel fortress lay somewhere to the south, and even though any sentry on high watch with a long glass could easily have tracked the eagle's progress to gain a better idea of the hidden stronghold's exact location, Altidor still took off to the east, circling obliquely south and back again in a slowly-expanding pattern before descending into the forest and dropping out of sight below the treetops, invisible to any watcher looking on from the high tower.

Flying between the trees was always challenging and unwieldy for so large a bird as a golden eagle, the close arboreal confines cramping the wingspan in an uncomfortable fashion. It was in this manner, with stuttered flaps and halting on-again, off-again glides, that Altidor finally arrived at Gawdrey to issue his third identical report of the day.

As expected, news of the gulls' withdrawal from Mossflower was not accepted as calmly here as at Redwall or Foxguard.

"What do you mean, they're all being reassigned?" Custis demanded in high dudgeon. "Those seabirds are essential for our campaign here!"

"Lord Urthblood seems to think them more essential in Southsward," the eagle replied with his typical unflappable demeanor. "You are to make do without them, in whatever manner you deem best."

Altidor, Custis and Lady Mina convened upon an open platform built high in the branches of Gawdrey's upper reaches, a landing deck designed for such meetings between winged and furred members of Urthblood's forces. Now the Gawtrybe Lady looked on in cool assessment as the squirrel captain faced the raptor with bristled pelt and twitching tail.

"Whatever I deem best?! Our gulls have proven crucial in pinpointing pockets of rat habitation we never would have discovered otherwise. Having to do without them could cripple our efforts here."

"Then suspend the campaign, if you feel you must, until they are available again. I am certain Lord Urthblood will grant you great leeway in this area, and support whatever decision you reach."

"Suspend the campaign? I was given to understand that Lord Urthblood held this resettlement operation as the absolute highest priority."

"Then priorities have changed. Southsward is now in play, contested between His Lordship and Tratton. Too much to be gained, and too much to be lost, if all available resources are not channeled into these negotiations."

"This doesn't even make sense!" Custis protested. "Tratton is right here in Mossflower, with Lord Urthblood's leave! How can they be at peace up here and yet still contesting each other over Southsward?"

"We are at peace with the searats. That does not make them allies, or even friends. In some areas we still compete - and it now appears Southsward is chief among those areas, at least for the moment."

"But this campaign is part of the Accord! Tratton himself can't want us to halt it!"

"Perhaps Tratton also sees Southsward as his new top priority. In any case, even were the searats not vying with us for influence over Southsward, the gulls would still be needed there to address this lizard situation the Squirrel King has tasked Lord Urthblood to solve in order to win the desired alliance. These are his orders, and they are to be carried out without delay."

"So, you'll be recalling them immediately, then?"

"Some are already on their way back to Salamandastron. When I finish here, I will deliver the summons to the rest. His Lordship wants them all down in Southsward by tomorrow, at the latest."

Custis turned to Mina. "You've taken this in silence, Lady. What have you to say on it?"

"What is there to say, Captain?" she replied with resignation. "As much as we've come to think of our winged scouts as 'our gulls' for the purposes of this Mossflower campaign, they're not ours. They're Lord Urthblood's. And now he has decided he needs them in Southsward. He's surely aware of how this will hamper our own operations, and he has no doubt taken that into account. The Commodore is right: we can scale back our efforts here, or even suspend them entirely if need be, until we can have the gulls back again. Hopefully, it will not be too long."

"We cannot suspend operations," Custis asserted. "Too much of our strategy depends on the element of surprise, of hitting rat settlements and habitats before news of our intent reaches them. The Redwallers may already have seen to it that our aims in this regard have been frustrated here in central Mossflower, but there remain vast stretches of this region south of us where we might yet strike without warning. That means finishing up in these nearer woods as soon as may be, and then turning our attention to lower Mossflower."

"Then that's what we'll do," Mina stated simply, as if deciding for all of them.

"Without gulls?" Custis shot back.

"You cleared out the Northlands largely on your own, without the help of gulls."

"The Northlands were our home territory, Lady. The parts of it we didn't already know well prior to Lord Urthblood's arrival, we got to know very well during our campaigns to tame those wild lands. When it came time to round up all the rats there, half of them were in Lord Urthblood's service and the other half we knew exactly where to find. You can't compare the two situations. Mossflower remains largely uncharted territory for us, especially its lower reaches where we have yet to conduct any operations at all. We'll sorely miss the sector surveillance and mapping the gulls provide."

"Then during their absence we'll use what maps we do have, and keep the sweeps going as best we can until we can avail ourselves of their services again. And perhaps it's time to tell Jaffox and his private horde to stop lollygagging at Foxguard and get off their tails to start doing what he was summoned to Mossflower to do."

"I thought you preferred to avoid working with that fox, Lady."

"What I prefer is to carry out Lord Urthblood's bidding - and that means putting Jaffox into action as intended … especially if he can help to make up for the lack of gulls."

Custis pursed his lips. "Very well. Perhaps it is time for that brute to start pulling his weight more with the sweeps and resettlement. We know how effective he can be when employed thus - and the relish with which he savors such field operations. At the very least, it will extricate him from this power struggle he's gotten into with Tolar, and perhaps stabilize things at Foxguard for the betterment of all."

"We can only hope." Mina turned to Altidor, broaching a change of subject she'd thus far refrained from bringing up while they discussed official business. "What news of Alexander, Commodore?"

"Captain Klystra saw him at Floret, and reports that he appears to fare well. His attempts to interfere with Lord Urthblood's affairs there and sway the Royal court against us have come to naught, which no doubt frustrates him greatly even as it spares him from His Lordship's greater wrath. He remains at Floret, it can be assumed, for as long as Lord Urthblood does, as a guest of the Squirrel King if not to the pleasure of our own expedition to Southsward."

"He sends … no word of his own?"

"We may presume the only creatures in Mossflower Alexander cares to communicate with these days are his fellow Redwallers - and we are not about to run messages to the Abbey for him."

The Gawtrybe Lady cast her gaze down at the planks beneath her footpaws, brow creased. "As long as he is well."

Altidor, affected by this devotional display, sought to encourage Mina. "If the campaign against the lizards menacing Southsward proceeds swiftly and surely, Lady, we may see Lord Urthblood back at Salamandastron before season's end, and Alexander back in Mossflower along with him. Then perhaps this breach between you can be repaired."

"Not so long, I fear, as the larger breach between Redwall and Lord Urthblood remains." Her words were soft and tiny and vulnerable in a way Mina herself never was.

"Then perhaps Lord Urthblood can address that as well upon his return. For now, I must fly. Until we meet again … Lady. Captain." Dipping his head in subtle salute, the golden eagle spread his wings and flutter-flapped up from the platform, leaving the two squirrels behind as he flew off between the trees. Keeping under the canopy until he'd crossed the Moss and came out onto the main north-south path well below Redwall and Grayfoot's, he then climbed to a more comfortable soaring altitude to fit his physique, scouting about and scanning the far wide summer skies for any gulls who had not yet received their orders to fall back to the coastal mountain fortress, leaving Mossflower once more to its Sparra and other woodland birds.

 **SALAMANDASTRON**

Even as Commodore Altidor completed his rounds in Mossflower, the surveillance gulls assigned to that region were flooding back into Salamandastron … and that was but one thing occupying Matowick's attention.

 _He didn't say anything …_

The Gawtrybe captain had fully expected a reprimand from Lord Urthblood over his assignment of Poinsett to escort Tratton in his own stead. A reprimand, at the very least - and perhaps worse. A demotion, or even outright dismissal from His Lordship's service. Maybe it was unrealistic for Matowick to have entertained such more severe penalties with everything else going on; between the resettlement campaign in Mossflower, strife with Redwall, the Searat King touring the inner lands and very sensitive and complex negotiations underway in Southsward, the last thing the Badger Lord needed was a reordering of his command structure in the midst of it all. That censure would come eventually, Matowick had no doubt, but it did make sense that Urthblood might delay it until he returned to the mountain and could speak with his squirrel commander face to face. Matowick had won a reprieve of sorts, if only a temporary one, which would leave him firmly emplaced as interim overseer of Salamandastron, free to exercise his authority as he saw fit and subject to question by nobeast.

Nobeast save one.

And if this was such a reprieve, why did Matowick feel such a distinct lack of relief over it?

In the back of his mind, Matowick realized and appreciated Urthblood's precise strategy and intent in this matter. He must know how disappointed Matowick would suspect him of being, and thus deemed it unnecessary to put that disappointment in writing, letting the lack of censure carry the biggest censure of all. A case of silence speaking louder than words - and of allowing the disobedient underling's own guilt and imagination to inflict their own manner of punishment. Yes, Urthblood knew his beasts well, and knew precisely how to deal with them when they displeased him.

Perricone seemed equally at a loss how to take Urthblood's dispatch. She still clearly worried how Matowick's decision might affect their longterm standing at Salamandastron but, having been ignored by their badger master for this transgression which an outsider might mistakenly attribute as much to her as to her husband, she pushed down her misgivings and just got on with things as best she could. And if she dropped her wall of reproach with Matowick a little over sympathy with what she knew he must be going through, it was only a little, and mostly for the sake of Elberon, shielding the babe from tense tones and terse voices which seemed to upset him, even if he couldn't comprehend the actual words.

Matowick stood on the plateau of Salamandastron, looking down upon the jetty reaching out into the calm coastal waters, their serenity at the moment a contrast to his inner turmoil. Another searat galleon, the _Seatalon_ , had pulled in and moored to receive the next batch of woodland rats for transfer - a batch which had only just arrived, not overland but by raft, borne down the River Moss from Foxguard and then south along the coastal shores to the mountain fortress. The weasels escorting those prisoners informed Matowick that the water route had been Jaffox's idea, but could not say with any certainty whether this delivery method was to become any sort of regular routine - which only showed how far outside the chain of decision those weasels were, since the Gawtrybe captain had already been informed by messenger bird of both Jaffox's presence at Foxguard and of the recall of Choock's shrews to that fortress so they could focus on raft-building and escorting further rat prisoners down the Moss to the coast. In fact, another group was on its way even now, Matowick knew, and with shrews handling the oars, he had no doubt they'd make considerably better time than these weasels had.

The _Seatalon_ 's captain, a particularly disagreeable searat by the name of Chartock, had spotted the _Darktide_ and its two fleetrunner escorts lying at anchor offshore to the mountain's south, and sensed from Ambassador Erzath that something unusual was going on in regard to those three vessels. Failing to get any satisfactory answers from the diplomat, Chartock seemed to think he'd have better luck trying to wring the information out of Matowick. Ironically, the squirrel ended up learning more from the rat than the other way around - namely, that Tratton's visit to Salamandastron and Mossflower was being kept tightly under wraps and not shared even with some captains of the Fleet … perhaps even with most of them. And if Erzath had not seen fit to clue Chartock into Tratton's earlier presence here or his tour of plains and woodlands, then Matowick certainly wasn't going to either.

Then again, much as he enjoyed leaving Chartock gnashing his teeth in unfulfilled frustration, it also seemed to Matowick that tipping his paw to that rat might serve to "innocently" undermine the greater searat schemes here, getting word of Tratton's absence from his own Empire out to those the Searat King had never meant to know of it - and who could say what complications and difficulties _that_ might cause for Lord Urthblood's nautical adversary? Indeed, the ramifications could prove so wildly unpredictable that Matowick opted to indulge Tratton and sit on that information, at least for now. With His Lordship down in Southsward and Salamandastron's forces stretched so thin, the last thing any servant of the Badger Lord wanted to do was introduce a wild, unknown element into these already unprecedented happenings which could unleash chaos of a manner detrimental to both sides.

Matowick turned from the crater rim to take in the scene playing out on the plateau itself. In Altidor's absence, Klystra had taken on the mantle of temporary avian commander at Salamandastron, but the falcon could not quite intimidate the seagulls into full compliance the way the golden eagle could, and Lornbill wasn't doing much to make things easier on Klystra. Matowick decided to lend his support to the beleaguered falcon, striding across to where the feathered warriors congregated.

"Why no more gulls in Mossflower?" Lornbill demanded. "We do good work there. Squirrels say so."

"Well, _this_ squirrel says Lord Urthblood's needs have changed," Matowick told the gull captain, "and his orders now are for you to redeploy to Southsward. Once your work is finished there, perhaps you will return to Mossflower to resume your duties under Captain Custis, but for now your presence is required at Floret."

"Will leave mountain underdefended," Lornbill insisted.

"Not really. Only the gulls being recalled from Mossflower are to be sent south. None of our current defenders will be pulled from their duty at Salamandastron, so we will be no less secure than we were before these orders came through."

"Will be less secure," the gull captain maintained. " _I_ will not be here."

Matowick inwardly conceded that Lornbill might have a point there. Not only would Klystra and Altidor be dedicating themselves to oversight of operations in Southsward and communications between Floret and Salamandastron for the duration of this campaign against the lizards, but Urthblood had requested Lornbill's presence as well, no doubt to help assert more direct control over his fellow gulls for what would likely prove exacting flights and drops. The badger had also specified that the squadron departing for Southsward be comprised of gulls who'd taken part in the assault on Snoga the previous summer … and it was there that Matowick suspected another large share of Lornbill's misgivings lay.

The gull captain shot a glance toward the growing stockpile of large clay vessels being borne one by one up from the depths of the mountain in the overcautious paws of Mattoon's weasels. "Why use Yellow Death? Why not use oil and lamps?"

"Lord Urthblood decided the poison vapors would be more effective against the enemy he faces now."

"Used Yellow Death on shrew island. Very nasty. Gulls not like."

"Well, you'll be using it on lizards this time, so maybe you'll find it a little more palatable. By all accounts they're savage barbarians, lacking all traces of civility you'd find in mammals or birds - even Snoga's shrews, or Tratton's searats. They're a dangerous scourge to be eliminated and removed from the lands."

"Like Flitch-aye-aye?"

This rebuke took Matowick by surprise. "You were not part of that operation. It was carried out entirely by ground forces."

"No, but we heard."

The squirrel sighed. "If you find the use of these vapors so distasteful, then acquit yourselves well in Southsward, and it will be over all the faster. It's just a tribe of simple lizards, not even any kind of army or organized military force. I'm sure most wandering bands of brigands and raiders would show more organization than these bloodthirsty reptiles do. I'm confident you'll have it all sorted out in good order, and be back here at Salamandastron in good time so that we can all return our attention once more to the true threats to peace in the lands."


	67. Chapter LXVI

**LXVI.**

 **TALAGA**

When the dockside guards of Talaga Harbor saw another fleetrunner pulling into the bay and tying up to the pier there, they paid it little special attention; after all, this isle sat at the crossroad of the Searat Empire every bit as much as Terramort itself, home to both officers' families and the productive food crops which fed so much of Tratton's realm. And these days, with the new-mother Queen in residence and the ongoing efforts to solidify the alliance with the cormorants - efforts spearheaded by Uroza's spyrats - fleetrunners had been coming and going at Talaga with increased frequency this season and last, making such arrivals far less noteworthy than they might have been otherwise.

However, when Spymaster Uroza himself emerged from belowdecks and stepped out onto the wharf, the guards on duty knew in an ice-gripped heartbeat that circumstances were as far from routine as could be.

The supervising officer of that day's baywatch, a short stout searat by the name of Tonishar, saluted the dark spy chief, then followed up with a hesitant half-bow, uncertain of the proper protocol for greeting this master of the Empire's hidden power who held no military rank of his own yet held the fate of every captain and commander in his paw.

Uroza neither saluted nor nodded as he made to stride right past Tonishar on his way to the shore. Seeing no retinue of Terramort guards or fellow spyrats forming up to escort the Spymaster, Tonishar took it upon himself to fall into step alongside the dark rat and initiate conversation from his end.

"Greetings, Spymaster, an' welcome to Talaga. We weren't expectin' you."

"I'd be very worried if you had been."

"Oh, uh, ah. Here t' see Her Majesty, I presume?"

"You'd do well not to presume above your station."

This shut Tonishar up, as intended.

"I will check in with the Queen, naturally," Uroza went on as they passed between the _Darksky_ on one paw and the _Deeprunner_ on the other. "But my main business here is with Governor Voccola … and Torabi. I trust all is well with both of them?"

"Gov'ner's fittin' in real nice, makin' 'imself at home in the gov'ner's mansion … well, the replacement gov'ner's mansion, guess you'd call it, since Her Majesty's taken th' real one fer her own, an' Voccola's set 'imself up in Harbormaster Rovtar's residence. You'd hardly know there were any changes in the post. Seamless transition, you could say."

"Perfect. I'm sure that's exactly how His Majesty would wish it. And Torabi?"

"Uh, she ain't exactly been under our noses, Spymaster. Keeps 'erself inland, away from our harbor duties here, workin' with those winged fiends we're tryin' to win over to our side. Doesn't give 'er much cause t' come down this way. But the Gov'ner would know more 'bout what's been goin' on with all that."

"I'm counting on it," Uroza said as he stepped off the dock planks onto the soft sands of Talaga Beach and up toward the interim governor's mansion.

00000000000

Regelline didn't think she'd ever get used to nursing, and looked forward to the day when Prince Rupart would be fully weaned.

The babe's eyes had finally opened, but as yet only the sparsest ghostlike layer of hairs had sprouted from the pink flesh, leaving her heir poised at that ungainly, unpleasant juncture midway between furred and naked. At least most of that unsightly wrinkling had smoothed out, leaving Rupart looking more like a real beast and not something that had been left soaking in the dishwater for too long.

And at least the teeth hadn't started coming in either, although even those hardening gums could still deliver uncomfortable nips, as the suckling infant reminded her yet again with a wince and a flinch. Once those fangs showed their first glinty tips of sharp whiteness through the tender pinkness, Regelline's nursing days would be over, and she didn't care what Demetria or anyrat else had to say on the matter. Let some wet nurse finish the job; the Queen would have bonded with her newborn enough by that time, and why should she continue to suffer when she had so many willing servants on paw to suffer in her place?

Looking down at the babe suckling at her breast in oblivious contentment, without a clue as to the ruthless power system into which he'd been born, Regelline felt the same conflicting emotions toward her son that she'd been feeling since his delivery. He was the most important thing in her world now, perhaps even more important than she considered herself to be … but that being said, she didn't _like_ him very much. He was a burden, an inconvenience, an annoyance, and the sooner he became his own independent, self-sufficient entity whom she could deal with as a fellow creature and not some unthinking, constantly-needy physical obligation, the better.

Of course, she could never let him know she felt this way, never allow him to even suspect she might regard him thus, for that would ruin him as her tool, blunt him as her weapon, and relegate this entire enterprise to failure. No, to him she must appear always the doting mother, devoted supporter and protector and maternal champion of his cause, to succor him and sustain him and empower him, until that power would stand uncontested by any other rat in the Empire - even the King himself. She must be there for him in these crucial formative seasons, first to bond with him through the mother-child link and then to shape his impressionable young mind, so pushing him away in any way was not an option. If it were, she might have passed him off to a nursemaid even before now.

Mother and son, Queen and Prince, sat on the veranda overlooking Talaga Village and, beyond it, Talaga Bay. Regelline has seen the new fleetrunner pulling into the harbor and tying up at the pier, and had made out the distinctive dark-furred rat disembarking from his spycraft and proceeding up into the shoreline settlement. And it hardly surprised her when she observed the Spymaster making straight for the Governor's mansion she'd taken for her own, since he must surely know that was where she now resided. Perhaps some curiosity panged at her ingrained wariness as to why Uroza himself had arrived and not some messenger in his stead, but then, her husband had not even confided in her what he meant to achieve at Salamandastron. Maybe things had gone disastrously wrong with the badger, and Regelline even now had sole possession of Terramort's throne, and Uroza was here to deliver that happy tragic news face-to-face. More likely, however, he bore merely some more routine status report; Tratton had successfully returned from the mountain fortress with all his limbs intact, and had perhaps worked out some new arrangements with Urthblood groundbreaking enough to warrant Regelline's appraisal by none other than the Empire's chief spyrat. And if the Searat King had too much on his paws to leave Terramort in light of whatever new circumstances pertained there, then it made sense to dispatch one of his seniormost underlings to see how things fared with his Queen and to update her on the status of affairs within their realm.

After all, Tratton had to know that she would have given birth by now, and he would naturally want to know whether his Prince or Princess had made it into the world hale and healthy. And since no messenger craft had been sent out from Talaga to bear these tidings, it would be up to them to come to her to discover this news.

Feeling that Rupart had had his fill for the moment and was settling back into a contented, clucking passiveness, Regelline called out to the nursemaid attending her on the veranda. "You! Take this whelp and place him back in his crib in the master bedchamber. I'm about to have an important visitor."

Her pawmaid Harmata also shared the open-air balcony with her, and now put in a suggestion of her own. "But Your Majesty, don't you wish to show off the Royal Heir to Spymaster Uroza?"

 _No, I do not._ The words formed on her lips, but died there unspoken as she reconsidered. The Prince was more than just her heir, her guaranteed future hold over the Empire; he was also the ultimate bargaining chip, her projection of power into the next generation of searat rule, her assurance of a continued dynasty. To have Rupart displayed in her arms would serve to remind Uroza who between them literally held the future of searatkind here … then a chilling thought occurred to her.

Rupart represented Tratton's continued dynasty as well - and that tyrant could be ruthless in getting what he wanted. What if he meant to seize the Prince and hold Rupart over her, instead of the other way around? What if even now Uroza conspired with the Talaga guard, or even her own guard, to storm up here and wrest her babe from her by force? She had no doubt which side any servant of the Empire would choose if forced to decide between their Queen or the dark Spymaster who inspired nightmares. She wouldn't stand a chance.

There was no place in this mansion - no place on all of Talaga - where Regelline could hide Rupart that Uroza wouldn't find him. And there was no shortage of hiding places throughout the Empire where Tratton could successfully keep his Queen from finding her own son.

Clutching the swaddled babe closer to her, she said, "You're right, Harmata. In fact, why don't you go summon Trushar and his guards for this occasion? Our fine Spymaster must be given a proper official reception, mustn't he?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, right away." Harmata bustled off to obey.

Uroza arrived mere moments after Trushar's rats had finished deploying themselves around the veranda, arranged in a formation to both give the spy chief a show of respect while also protecting their Queen. Perhaps no rat in the Empire was entirely immune from Uroza's influence, but if there was any defender who might choose fealty to Regelline over Uroza, Trushar was the one, and the female sovereign felt reassured at his presence.

Uroza regarded the retinue of royal guards with what seemed almost passing interest. "Trust issues, Your Majesty?"

"Not at all, Spymaster. Just making sure to give you a proper greeting to fit a rat of your reputation and standing. What brings you to Talaga? News of the King, I presume?"

"No word from him yet, actually. His business keeps him abroad. My presence here is a Bureau affair, not a royal one, and most of my dealings will be with Governor Voccola and my own agents. But I could not commence with any of that without first making my appearance before you and paying my formal respects … as I am sure you no doubt appreciate, Your Highness."

"But of course. Even with my husband momentarily absent from the Empire, I would naturally expect you to defer to me as the acting head of the Kingdom … and if his absence should become more than a temporary state of affairs … "

Remaining coolly stoic, Uroza replied, "I have received no word to indicate that that is likely to come to pass, Your Majesty."

"Didn't you just say you've received no word from him at all? Which might suggest any number of things, good or bad."

"This … is true, Highness."

"Then for all we know, that badger could be polishing my husband's beheaded skull for permanent display in the halls of his accursed mountain as we speak."

"Then that would be a true shame, leaving the Royal Heir without a father right at the start of life." Uroza for the first time allowed his gaze to slip obviously to the calm bundle in Regelline's paws, only snout and ears protruding from the blankets. "How fare you and the Prince, Your Majesty? I assume from what I see and hear that the delivery went smoothly and without complications?"

Now Regelline did stiffen visibly, clutching Rupart closer to her breast in spite of her resolve to assert her command here. "Quite smoothly, for a first birth. We both fare quite well. Thank you for your concern, Spymaster."

"How could I not be concerned, Your Majesty? That is the future of our Empire you cradle in your arms. Most unfortunate that the King himself cannot be on paw to share in this most momentous event."

Again Regelline gave an involuntary flinch at this reference to Rupart's importance, and her gaze narrowed at Uroza. "Just why did Tratton travel to Salamandastron, and now of all times? Is that even where he went? What is he playing at?"

"Unless he keeps secrets from me as well, Your Highness, that is precisely where he went. As to why, I think I'd best leave that for him to explain upon his return."

"And if he never returns?"

"Then you become ruler of the Searat Empire, and we will all be bound to serve you as we served him."

"And would you?" Regelline's probe could not have been more obviously pointed, and Uroza inwardly winced at the clumsiness of it.

"Let us hope for His Majesty's safe return, so that this never becomes an issue."

"That's not a yes, Spymaster."

"If I agreed too readily, you would not believe me in any event."

"What does my husband hope to hatch with Urthblood now, that would take him from his own realm at this crucial time?"

"Who says his journey to Salamandastron had anything to do with Urthblood?"

Regelline gaped at Uroza as if he'd just confronted her with a mystery without solution, a joke without a punchline.

"Now," the Spymaster went on, "I've no wish to keep Your Majesty any longer, since I'm sure you are still recovering from the Prince's birth. If you'll excuse me, I will be along to visit with Governor Voccola." As Uroza turned to leave, something occurred to Regelline, something not quite right.

"Spymaster?"

Uroza paused in mid-turn. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Don't you even want to know the Prince's name? He is heir to our Empire, after all."

Uroza seemed at a momentary loss, recovering so quickly that less astute eyes may have missed it - but Regelline's did not. "Of course. What _is_ his name?"

"Rupart. A fine royal rat name, don't you agree?"

His reply was neutral and noncommittal. "Yes. I am sure you put much thought into it. Your choice, or the King's?"

"Mine. My husband seemed content to leave such things to me."

"Not surprising. His Majesty is quite a busy ruler, after all. As long as you didn't name the Prince after your father, I'm sure he will have no objection. Good day to you, Your Highness." Uroza gave a respectful nod of departure and stalked from the veranda.

"Shall we remain, Your Majesty?" Trushar asked, in reference to himself and his guards.

"Just inside, if you will - close enough to hear, should I call."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Harmata stayed at Regelline's side as Trushar withdrew the Queen's personal guard into the mansion. "Did that … go well, Ma'am?" the royal pawmaid inquired. "With that dark rat, it's so hard to tell."

"It was not entirely as expected. And I cannot tell whether that was to our benefit or not."

The Spymaster was preoccupied, that much Regelline had been able to see for herself at the end - and maybe if she'd not been so preoccupied herself with her own thoughts and suspicions of what Uroza intended toward her babe, she might have noticed it sooner. And Uroza was not a rat to become distracted, or to show it if he was. To have forgotten to inquire as to the royal heir's name … of course, it was possible he'd known it already, through his spy network, or intended to discover it on his own through his own channels, and hadn't considered it a detail worthy of broaching during his audience with his Queen … but Regelline didn't think so. She was very adept at reading rats herself, and unless Uroza was playing some kind of game here (and playing it very well) he truly did have something on his mind that had his attention elsewhere than fully engaged in his exchange with her, suggesting his true business on Talaga lay elsewhere, and his perfunctory appearance here at the Governor's mansion had been for unavoidable protocol only. Which then begged the question, just what was so important that it had called Uroza from his lair on Terramort all the way out here to Talaga? More important in his view, even, than the Prince who would someday inherit the Kingdom Uroza helped to rule.

And Regelline now burned with curiosity as to what that might be.

The fate of Tratton was the obvious possibility, but Regelline had long ago learned to look beyond the obvious. Besides, if something had happened to her husband, that encounter with Uroza just now would likely have gone far differently, and had a different flavor, with the Spymaster either stating outright that Tratton had met with disaster and that Regelline now had the throne of Terramort, or else putting on another face to manipulate affairs and place her at ease - not the unsettled-below-the-surface, distracted presence he'd just presented now. No, something else was going on here, and Regelline would have given much to be privy to whatever Uroza was about to discuss with Governor Voccola.

"Harmata?"

"Yes, M'Lady?"

"Have our house staff keep an eye out for Spymaster Uroza - when he goes into Voccola's residence, when he comes out, and where he goes afterward. Oh, and once he's gone, send a request to the Governor to send us some of his own house staff, since we could use a little extra help here."

Harmata grinned knowingly. "Of course, Your Majesty."

 _And let's hope they're ones with big ears_ , Regelline thought to herself, _who know how to use them, and were in the right place to hear what they were not meant to_.


	68. Chapter LXVII

**LXVII.**

 **FOXFALL I**

The hour of telling had arrived at Foxguard.

Jaffox lounged on the fortress grounds in the company of his fellow Northland foxes, enjoying an early supper under the summer evening sky. Tolar's brigade had concluded their day's drills a short time before and had now mostly filtered indoors to take their own dinner in the mess hall. With tensions running so high these days, the opposing vulpine commanders avoided mingling any more than necessary, including during mealtimes … or at least that was the pretext Jaffox invoked for this occasion.

"So this business with th' gulls has got all our squirrel friends' tails in a twist," the big dogfox was saying to his squad. "That's why over half of 'em took off fer Gawdrey this afternoon: Custis thinks he'll need those extra scouts to make up fer havin' no eyes in th' sky. Least it'll make things a liddle less crowded here fer th' rest of us."

"Not that it'll make any diff'rence where _we're_ concerned," groused a heavily-scarred battler named Lallouz. "Still gotta sleep out on this grass in all weather while those black-clad snobs get t' enjoy nice soft beds they keep all to themselves."

Glennon teased his fellow Northlander. "All weather, y' say? Scarcely been a drop of rain since we arrived in Mossflower, an' mild too, with days none too scorchin' an' nights just cool 'nuff fer pleasant sleepin'. 'Sides, all th' Gawtrybe an' Choock's shrews've been forced t' sleep outdoors too."

Lallouz grunted. "Like I said. Keepin' all their cozy beds to 'emselves."

Jaffox continued on about the squirrels. "Figgers that just as soon as our own hunnerd we brought down from th' North with us finishes up their field duties t' join us here at Foxguard, Custis snatches most of 'em away away from us again. Havin' more elbow room's all well 'n' good, but those treejumpers 're on our side more'n Tolar's, so that's that much less support than we'd had before. Still, I s'pose we c'n make it work. Still got enuff of them bowtwangers 'round t' back us up if Tolar forces 'is paw too hard, includin' Sergeant Collijack. That squirrel'll def'nitely keep his Gawtrybe loyal to the foxes he saw cleanin' out the forests north o' here."

Jaffox refrained from revealing to any of his squad, even Glennon and Redrovan, that the summons redeploying large numbers of Gawtrybe from Foxguard to Gawdrey had also "invited" him and his Northland foxes to join Custis at the squirrel stronghold - a request Jaffox had chosen to disregard for the moment under the pretense of needing more time to prepare and tie up loose ends here. And the fact that the messenger had delivered this summons directly to Jaffox where no other ears could hear it made it that much easier for the big fox to keep it to himself.

Glennon gazed up at the sky, still bright blue even after the setting of the sun. "Yeah, gonna be strange, lookin' up there an' seein' no gulls after having 'em as a constant presence fer so long. No wonder th' Gawtrybe're so put out by them bein' recalled."

"Aye," Jaffox agreed, "an' I heard tell it ain't just th' forestlands south o' here our squirrel friends're concerned about. Seems there's sumpthin' goin' on with the Plains too, out where squirrels can't cover territory as easily with th' lack of trees, an' gulls woulda been crucial fer surveillance. Dunno what that's all about, but - "

At that moment another of his squad who'd been late in getting his own meal from the commissary hurried across the lawns, shouting. "Jaffox! Jaffox! Sumpthin's wrong with Tolar!"

Jaffox looked up at the harried fox with narrowed gaze. "Wrong? Whaddya mean wrong, Darp? What's goin' on?"

Darpino struggled to catch his breath. "He jus' … keeled over, sir … right onta the floor … right in th' middle of th' mess … "

The others looked expectantly their chief's way, anticipating some word or sign that he was behind this treachery. But Jaffox merely rose, a serious expression of alarmed concern on his face. "Guess I'd better get there, see what this's all about." And with that he was jogging his way across the grounds toward the main fortress building.

He arrived on the scene to find a hushed, tense crowd in the mess hall. Shouldering his way through the door and into the room, he saw that a large circle of anxious onlookers had stepped back to form a wide ring around the fallen Sword. Mona knelt over her mate in frantic activity, forcing some manner of elixir down Tolar's unresponsive and resisting throat; it looked like half the potion dribbled right down his chin and neck.

Jaffox glanced over and across the crowd to where Croffet still stood at his serving station behind the dispensary counter. The weasel, fleetingly meeting the Northlander's gaze, quickly looked away, eyes dropping down to his paws.

Returning his attention to the unfolding tragedy closer to paw, Jaffox half-roared, "What's goin' on here? Has th' Sword's illness taken a turn fer th' worse?"

Mona, cradling Tolar's lolling head in her desperate grasp, glared up at the big fox through tearful eyes. "You! You did this, you monster!"

Jaffox scowled. "Not likely. I was outside with my squad - just ask anybeast. So, what's wrong with 'im?"

"He's been poisoned," Mona choked out, struggling to keep her voice steady. "That's the only thing it could be."

"Poisoned?" Jaffox sounded genuinely shocked, as if amazed such treachery had occurred without his own involvement or direction. "How?"

"In his food or drink, obviously," growled Haddican from alongside Jaffox, his paw on his sword hilt.

"What's that stuff y' just fed 'im?" Jaffox demanded of Mona. "Can you save 'im?"

"I … don't know," the vixen responded from her knees as she leaned over Tolar in a protective posture. "I've done what I can … I'll do all I can … but it may already be too late." She glanced up at the weasels and black-clad brigade foxes encircling her. "Can somebeast please help me bear Tolar down to my surgery? That's his best hope now, to get him to where I can properly work on him."

Needing no further bidding, Haddican and Remillard stepped forward and picked Tolar up by his legs and shoulders to bustle him out of the mess hall through the parting crowd, Mona hastening after them with one last baleful glare thrown Jaffox's way.

Dijax clamped a paw on the larger fox's shoulder, even though he had to reach up to do so. "Jaffox, I'm placing you under arrest, on suspicion of attempted murder."

Jaffox eyed the other with dismissive disdain. "Try it, an' I'll put you on th' floor 'fore you c'n have that blade out of its sheath - an' then I'll have you down in th' dungeons fer treason. 'Cos in case you'd fergot, with Tolar outta commission, I'm actin' Sword now." He scanned the swordfoxes around him, focusing especially on the cadets and junior brigade members he might more easily intimidate. "By direct order o' Lord Urthblood. An' the Gawtrybe'll back me up on that, if you've any notion of challengin' me on this."

"That chain of succession doesn't hold if you poisoned Tolar."

"An' I say I did no such thing. Yer Sword's been suff'rin' from some sickness of late - you've all seen it yerselves."

"Mona said it was poison," Dijax challenged.

"If t'was poison, didn't come from my paw. So unless you can prove otherwise, ye're takin' yer orders from me now."

The junior swordfox Riddik, red in the face beneath his naturally red fur, yelled, "We'll never take orders from you! Not after this! Not today, and not ever!"

Jaffox levelled a hard stare Riddik's way; he could tell from the looks in the faces of the other swordfoxes that they shared his challenger's sentiments. But while he'd rushed in here without any of his Northland squad to back him up, he was hardly alone, and foxes were hardly the only creatures occupying the mess hall now. Many Gawtrybe had been taking their evening meal along with Tolar's foxes, and the looks on _their_ faces let Jaffox know he'd not miscalculated in invoking their solidarity, and that in the absence of any proof of guilt here, they _would_ back up his authority and standing as Foxguard's acting Sword.

"Have a care there, pup," Jaffox warned Riddik, and by extension all those around him as well. "If Tolar doesn't pull through, that state of affairs'll become perm'nant, an' I might just be inclined t' remember who was speakin' 'gainst me right at th' start."

For many moments a wordless standoff held. When he sensed the moment was right, Jaffox looked down at Dijax's restraining paw on his shoulder. "Better remove that, soldier, if y' don't wanna lose it."

Dijax hesitated, then relented, only too well aware himself of the tense balance between fox and squirrel, and that his freedom to move against Jaffox was far from absolute here. And with Tolar, Haddican and Remillard gone from the scene, it was easy to second-guess his own assurance, especially before an audience of junior swordfoxes and Gawtrybe of unpredictable allegiance.

"Much better," Jaffox drawled, pushing past Dijax and the other brigade foxes on his way out of the mess hall.

Looking after the hulking beast, Roxroy muttered to Riddik, "I wish Sappakit was still here. He'd know what to do!"

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"I don't need to tell you how bad this looks, Commander."

"Then don't … Sergeant."

Jaffox stared Collijack down outside the main fortress building - not hard to do, since he loomed over the squirrel even more than he did most of his fellow foxes. The Gawtrybe sergeant had been the first beast Jaffox sought out after exiting the mess hall, knowing that he had to get the ranking squirrel currently stationed at Foxguard fully on his side, and fast, to present a united front against the other senior swordfoxes who might challenge his Badger Lord-sanctioned right to succeed Tolar as commander of the vulpine stronghold. But if he was expecting Collijack to fall unquestioningly into line, he was in for a disappointment.

"Lord Urthblood called me down from th' Northlands to put things right here," Jaffox went on. "An' now's my chance - _our_ chance - t' do just that, once an' fer all."

"I am sure His Lordship didn't have assassination in mind as part of your orders."

Jaffox's face darkened. "I just got finished tellin' that lot inside, an' now I'll tell you, fer th' first an' last time: I didn't poison anybeast."

"So it was poison, then?"

Jaffox gave a noncommittal shrug. "Some are sayin' it coulda been. Then again, our good Sword's been under so much pressure o' late, an' with the sickness takin' a toll on him as well, mebbe 'ee just keeled over from all th' stress. Who c'n say? No denyin' the Swords o' this brigade ain't 'xactly had a history o' good luck an' long lives, is there?"

"So you will swear you had no paw in what happened to Tolar this evening? In ordering it, planning it or executing it?"

Jaffox met the squirrel's gaze unflinchingly. "I'll allow you to ask me that exactly one time, Sergeant - no more, an' no less."

"Once will be all I need, as long as you answer me honestly and forthrightly."

"Lemme put it this way, Sergeant: if we got a poisoner in our midst, I will root that villain out an' see that justice is done. An' I'll expect yer full cooperation an' backing while I do so, an' fer as long as I'm actin' commander o' Foxguard until Tolar recovers - or perm'nantly, if he don't."

"You think there's a chance he might?"

"Mona was forcin' some concoction down 'is throat when I got there - musta been sumpthin' she was carryin' around on 'er, tho' whether t'was th' right kinda cure … anyways, she bore 'im down to her surgery-o'-horrors, t' do fer him what she can. If t'was poison, she'll be able t' figger it out, an' if t'weren't, well, then I wager she 'n' her fancy fox friends'll be at a loss, havin' nobeast to blame fer their latest trouble."

The squirrel's brow furrowed in contemplation. "And what if she determines it's not poison, but says it is anyway, to deny you command of Foxguard?"

Jaffox gave a malevolent grin. "Naw, she'd not be so connivin' an' calculatin' as that, our dear sweet Mona." Then his grin faltered a trace in its confidence. "She ain't th' type t' do that sorta thing … ain't got th' stomach fer those kinda games."

"Your kind of games, you mean?"

The fox's gaze narrowed. "Are you gonna back me up or not, Sergeant?"

"That depends on what comes out, doesn't it?"

"What comes out is, anything happens t' Tolar, I take charge o' Foxguard, by Lord Urthblood's direct decree - an' he'll not be happy if he hears I didn't have your support on this. If y' got any doubts, go send fer Custis. I'm sure he'll see my side o' things."

"The Captain is too busy with his operations to come running to Foxguard every time there's an issue here, especially now that all the gulls have been recalled. And I really should be there with him too, lending my support to the sweeps instead of lingering here and getting placed in the middle of any of this."

"Gee, I'da thought after that long trek down from th' Northlands with me, an' all the work you did clearin' out northern Mossflower, you'd welcome a nice liddle rest here at Foxguard 'fore headin' out inta th' field again."

Collijack scowled. "The present situation is hardly restful."

Jaffox's face hardened. "Then look at it this way: things get hot 'n' heavy 'tween me an' Tolar's gang, I'll need Gawtrybe support - an' I've a fair notion that's part o' the reason Lord Urthblood had an extra hunnerd o' ye come south with me. Stayin' neutral ain't an option, an' if I need you, I will expect you an' yer squirrels t' be there fer me. Got it?"

Collijack, being a Gawtrybe field commander, wasn't about to let himself be intimidated by Jaffox. "My first duty and obligation is to assist with the resettlement campaign, not to take sides or involve myself in a dispute over Foxguard's leadership. I may have taken your orders and coordinated efforts with you during our joint operations so far, but Captain Custis is the beast I ultimately answer to, and - "

"Nay," Jaffox cut in, "Lord Urthblood is the one you ultimately answer to, as do I. An' we ain't out in th' field now, roundin' up skintails. This is Foxguard, an' as long as ye're stationed here, ye'll take yer orders from th' top fox here - which happens t' be me at th' moment, like it or not."

Collijeck bristled. "The Gawtrybe at Foxguard always acted independently of Tolar, and I see no reason to change that arrangement now."

"Tolar ain't in charge now. An' if ye'll not take orders from me, then you an' yer whole regiment o' flufftailed nuisances can get th' Hellgates outta Foxguard, 'cos ye're no use t' me!"

"Don't tempt me, Commander, because I might do just that, in spite of Captain Custis's orders that the Gawtrybe maintain a presence at Foxguard. But since I _do_ follow orders, I will stay. But let's make one thing clear: I represent the interest of the Gawtrybe - and of Lord Urthblood - here at Foxguard. I am not your personal ally in any power games you're playing here. And as for what happened to Tolar this evening … do you really think that's what Lord Urthblood had in mind, or would endorse?"

"First off, already toldja I didn't poison nobeast. Second, even if I did happen t' arrange fer such a thing, how sure 're you that that ain't exactly what Lord Urthblood had in mind?"

"I … " Faced with this not-quite-confession, combined with the arrogant confidence that maybe this _was_ what Lord Urthblood had intended or at least allowed for, Collijack backed down somewhat. "My squirrels and I will stand by and at the ready. Let's wait and see what happens with Tolar. If he recovers, fine, and if not … then we'll see how the situation develops, and what part we may be called upon to play in it."

"Perfect. That'll be all fer now … Sergeant." Dismissing the Gawtrybe squirrel with a turn, Jaffox stalked away toward the fortress building.

Many foxes, nearly all in black, choked the corridors and passages within; some parted to allow Jaffox to pass when they saw the glowering brute approach, while others had to be shouldered aside. But no blade was drawn or raised against him, and thus did he make his way down to the cellars and to Mona's surgery. A large crowd had gathered outside the chamber door, anxiously waiting to see what would come of their fallen Sword. As in the halls above, many venomous, daggerlike glares met Jaffox as he forced his way through the swordfoxes, who regarded him with a deadly silence which might have unnerved anybeast else. Even Jaffox would have preferred not to have placed himself in the midst of a potentially vengeful throng, but he had to be sure. That elixir he'd seen Mona feeding Tolar in his distress … what was that? Could it have saved him, or was he already beyond such a cure, assuming it was even the right cure? What transpired here would determine everything to follow.

Only Mona, Haddican and Remillard occupied the chamber, all somberly gathered around the slab on which Tolar lay. The Sword was perfectly still, eyes closed and jaw slack, betraying no sign that he still drew breath. His three guardians glanced up with baleful glares upon realizing which beast had joined them. Mona's face in particular twisted into a mask of cold fury.

"He's dead," she spat at the Northlander. "Congratulations - you've finally got Foxguard all to yourself."

Jaffox stepped forward, unheeding of the palpable enmity greeting him. "So, yer cure didn't work?"

"No. It didn't. You did too thorough a job of it."

"I didn't poison nobeast," Jaffox growled ill-naturedly, and reached out to place a paw on Tolar's neck. The two swordfoxes present tensed at this disrespectful affront, but otherwise held to themselves.

"No heartbeat … " Jaffox's paw moved to Tolar's chest and rested there gently for a few moments, then he lowered his face over the Sword's slightly-open maw where his whiskers might catch even the faintest of exhales. "No pulse… not breathin' … still warm tho'."

"A residual effect of some poisons," Mona forced out between clenched teeth. "A responsive fever as the body struggles to overcome it. Just ask Joska - I'm sure she can tell you all about it."

Jaffox straightened. "I'll find out who did this. Whoever dared t' poison Foxguard's Sword'll be ferreted out an' made t' pay. You have my word on that."

"Your word? The word of a murderer?"

" _I_ didn't kill Tolar. An' I'd like t' see anybeast prove I did."

"Keep up the innocent act, Jaffox. But you'll not fool any of us, or make us believe you." Mona turned her damp-eyed gaze to Haddican and Remillard as she came out from behind the table where her unmoving mate lay. "Keep a watch over Tolar, until I'm ready to properly prepare him. Let nobeast defile him."

"Where're _you_ goin'?" Jaffox demanded of the vixen as she stomped past him toward the doorway to the corridor beyond.

"As far from _you_ as I can get," Mona snapped, and was gone.

Jaffox stood rooted to his spot for many heartbeats, staring down the two swordfoxes standing vigil over their former chieftain's body, then turned and followed out after Mona. Through the assembled bladebeasts he glimpsed the vixen disappearing around the curve of the cellar corridor. While everybeast there regarded him with looks that could kill, none sought to stop him as he set out after Foxguard's healer.

He reached the bottom of the stairs in time to see Mona's tail and swooshing skirt clearing the top step, and then she was gone. He paused there at the bottom, torn between pursuit of Mona and moving on to his expected rendezvous, then started up the stairs himself. Halfway up, his sharp ears picked up the sound of a bell, solitary and forlorn, echoing down the inside of the tower as it did sometimes when the atmospheric conditions were just right. Somebeast was summoning for a lift up to the observation deck.

And Jaffox had a pretty good idea just who it was.

He found more of Tolar's black-clad brigade, mostly cadets and juniors this time, clustered about the corridor at the top of the stairs, too timid to descend and wait for word of their Sword's condition just outside the surgery but nevertheless anxious to learn what they could as soon as they could. No doubt Mona's distraught passage this way had left them fearing the worst, as many of their own aggrieved faces showed. As below, none sought to waylay him as he stormed past, intent on his own purpose.

The lift platform was already ascending when he reached it. Jaffox just had time enough to behold Mona's solitary figure occupying the center of the rising deck before the angle of ascent conspired with the wood of the contraption and the curves of the enclosing stonework to shield her from view. It would take a fair while for her to reach the top - and, unless Jaffox missed his guess, once up there she would be in no hurry to return, since she must assume little remained for her down here.

Satisfied that the vixen posed no immediate concern, Jaffox turned and headed back toward the cellars. The crowd at the top of the stairs was already beginning to disperse, the younger swordfoxes drifting outside to nurse their angry grief under the open sky in whatever common support they could muster. He made it down the steps and into the cellar corridor without encountering anybeast else. Instead of turning to his left toward Mona's surgery, where he knew Haddican and Remillard would still be standing watch over Tolar's corpse and others might still be gathered outside the chamber, he struck out to his right, away from any anticipated grouping of irate swordsbeasts and into a section of the cellars occupied only by rat prisoners confined in their dungeons as they awaited transfer by shrew ferry - and by one other.

"What took you so long?" Joska hissed at him from the shadows as Jaffox entered the disused minting chamber for the Realms - the very same room where Croffet and the weasels had revealed their willingness to facilitate this day's events. "I've been waiting here forever!"

"It'll be ferever, fer both of us, if we don't play this out just right," the big fox growled back in a subdued hush. "You were s'posed t' take care of both of 'em. What happened?"

"Not my fault that vix decided to pick around the edges of her plate while Tolar dove right into his dinner. I doused both plates."

"An' the weasels?"

"Good as their word. When they saw me sneak into the kitchens the back way, they all turned their heads and let me do what I came there to do. Even had Tolar an' Mona's plates already prepared an' set aside from the others. And I'm certain nobeast but them saw me enter or leave."

"So, we mighta got lucky in some ways, not so lucky in others. Thinkin' back on it, woulda looked mighty suspicious havin' Tolar an' Mona both keelin' over at th' same meal - wouldn'ta been any hidin' it was poison then. This way, with Tolar actin' so outta sorts like 'ee has lately, we still might be able t' paint it as sumpthin' else - his heart givin' out, sumpthin' like that. Problem is, with Mona still in our fur, she'll know th' signs t' look for, an' make tests on her own food she didn't eat … an' then ev'rybeast'll know fer sure t'was poison."

"Wouldn't our weasel friends have the sense to clear away the plates, get rid of the evidence?"

"They might not o' thought that far ahead. They are weasels, after all. An' clearin' away those plates might make 'em look more guilty than they'd care t' let on. 'Member, they only said they'd stand back an' let us do what we hadta do, not that they'd help us or take sides. They'll be wantin' t' keep their paws clean as they can through all o' this."

"Nonsense. I may've administered the doses, but they're the ones who served those dinners to Tolar and Mona, knowing what was in them. They're as deep in this as you an' me - and if they know what's good for them, they'll not go wagging their tongues to Mona or anybeast else!"

"Actshully, I'm thinkin' of a diff'rent use fer 'em now. If it becomes plain fer all t' see that Tolar was poisoned, shouldn't be hard t' plant a packet or two on one of 'em, frame 'em t' take the fall an' clear th' way fer us."

Joska's eyed went wide. "They'll never stand fer that! You try 'n' shift all the blame over to them, they'll squeal an' spill it all! They'll implicate you … they'll implicate _me_!"

"Don't you worry 'bout that - I'm Foxguard's new Sword now, 'member? By direct order o' Lord Urthblood 'imself. It'll be my word 'gainst theirs - an' I'll make sure I get th' last word!"

"Then why do you still look an' sound so worried?"

"It's that Mona," Jaffox grumbled. "She could cause us more trouble'n all those black-jacket ninnies put t'gether. 'Tween what she could prove with her poison tests an' examinations, an' how she could rally Tolar's lads against us … "

"Well, what about the Gawtrybe? You kept puttin' this off an' puttin' this off, saying we hadta go slow to make sure they were on our side when we made our move. So now that we have, won't they support you as Sword, and make Tolar's foxes accept you too, no matter what that vixen says or does?"

Jaffox worked his jaw. "Just had a word with Collijack outside, an' he's takin' more of a wait-an'-see attitude than I'd like. I'm sure I c'n bring 'im 'round t' my side in time, 'specially now that Tolar's definitely dead, but it'd be a lot easier if Mona was outta th' way too, like we planned."

"Well, where is she now?"

"Headin' up to th' lookout tower deck, all in a fuss an' a tearful fright, no doubt t' moon over her lost love."

"Least she's still got that glassmaker of hers. Surprised she didn't seek him right out for comfort an' solace."

"She'll not have 'im fer long. He was recalled to Salam'dastron, 'member? Our poor Mona'll be put at such loose ends, she might jus' throw 'erself from th' tower top an' end it all!"

The two foxes found themselves staring at each other in the dim recesses of the coin-stamping chamber.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" the vixen asked.

"No way I can't be. An' we got just weasels an' squirrels on th' high watch now, unless I'm mistaken. Still, it'd look too suspicious if I went up there m'self, after what happened with Tolar. How do you feel about a nice long evenin' climb, m'dear? I hear the views from up there 're spectacular at this hour!"

00000000000

Joska was fairly well winded by the time she attained the top step into the observation dome atop Foxguard's lookout tower, the climb presenting no small challenge even for a creature as reasonably fit as she was. Indeed, the scaling of those thousand steps and more had forced her to stop and catch her breath several times during her ascent, and also to rub at her legs to knead out the forming muscle knots and forestall any cramps before they hit her. Most beasts failed to appreciate the sheer stamina required for such a climb or the toll it would take on a body until attempting the feat for themselves, but Joska certainly appreciated it now. Fortunately, the lingering daylight of the long summer evening still seemed to be holding up fairly well, ensuring that Joska would reach the top well before the light failed altogether. She would not have wanted to make any part of this vertical trek in complete darkness, and the twilight view would hopefully hold Mona to her grieving spot at the summit and not render Joska's exertions futile.

Luck was also on her side in the manner of beasts encountered during the course of her climb. On this night, only weasels staffed the lift's support stations, each and every one shuffling aside and diverting their gazes and allowing her to pass without comment, perhaps guessing for themselves what she might be up to but certain that, whatever it was, they wanted no part of it. If any of Tolar's foxes had drawn safety beam rotation on this of all evenings, Joska knew they'd have stopped her, demanding to know her business and suspiciously scrutinizing why she opted for the hardship of the winding staircase instead of ringing for the lift. Most likely they'd have turned her back and not allowed her to proceed, frustrating her plans and destroying this perfect opportunity to eliminate her rival vixen once and for all.

Joska set both footpaws fully up onto the stone floor of the observation dome, chest heaving and breath coming in stifled, hushed gasps as her heart hammered against the inside of her ribs from both effort and anxious anticipation. What she'd done to Tolar earlier was her preferred method of assassination, stealthy and aloof and very much paws-off. Mona would be something different for her - more direct, more physical, and yet if all went well here, no direct evidence would be found to show her paw in this. It would all be just a tragic accident or, more likely, an act of tragic despair by a heartbroken mate.

Joska inwardly bubbled in delight at such an enticing prospect. The fact that it would leave her as the top vixen at Foxguard seemed almost secondary at the moment.

No lamps had yet been lit up here against the encroaching nightfall, leaving the dome's interior deeply shadowed in tones of lighter and darker gray. Joska's vulpine vision had no trouble making out the two weasels sitting at their tiny table, their simple suppers forgotten as they looked up from their meal to gaze across at her in surprise. Clearly neither had anticipated her arrival, which boded well. What boded even better was that she spied no sign of anybeast else within the dome, either squirrel or vixen.

Crossing to the two laborbeasts on trembling legs, Joska ducked down to whisper, "Where is she?"

One raised his paw to point toward the doorway leading out to the open balcony, which met with Joska's expectations, for where else would a distraught, grieving creature go to escape the sorrows of the world? Up to the very roof, perhaps, which might have presented its own set of problems, so this was shaping up to be the ideal situation.

Holding her voice to a whisper so as not to carry beyond this chamber, she asked, "And the squirrels?"

The same weasel pointed straight upward, indicating the top deck where the signalling mirror was located. Which only made sense, since the Gawtrybe monitored it constantly, ever watchful for any flashed messages from Salamandastron, or so she'd gleaned during her time at Foxguard so far. Jaffox had stressed over and over the importance of keeping those squirrel archers on his side, and their presence here could have complicated matters beyond salvaging. For what Joska had in mind, any witnesses at all could ruin everything, but now the coast was clear for her to proceed.

The weasel pair she considered not witnesses but potential accomplices. At the very least they would turn a blind eye and keep their silence, just as they had in the kitchens, but now she hoped she might call upon them to play a more active role here if the situation called for it.

Joska was almost tempted to take a seat herself for a few moments, to fully collect herself and gather her wits for the task before her. But this opening could close at any moment; Mona could decide to come in from the balcony for any number of reasons, or else one of the Gawtrybe could likewise descend from the roof to grab a bite or use the pot or just trade conversation with the weasels or Mona herself. No, she must act now, without delay, before this chance passed.

Nervously pawing at the slight bulge in the hem of her skirt, Joska dwelt upon her next move. The spindle-handled poison dagger, so slight that only the most thorough inspection would reveal it to the touch, gave her comfort as always, but now she abandoned any plans to use it here. True, one quick prick was all it would take to administer a lethal dose to her intended victim, and if done right it would leave only the faintest of visible wounds, very easy to miss. But it would also give Mona time to cry out, to fight, to attract attention and call out Joska as her murderer before she succumbed. No, much better to do this without the blade. Joska held a slight advantage over Mona in height and weight, but was as stealthy in her movements as any vixen. She would come upon her target by surprise and catch Mona unprepared, grab the smaller fox by the legs and upend her over the balcony wall before she even knew what was happening.

There would be a scream, of course - hopefully, a long and terrified one as she plummeted earthward - but by then Joska hoped to have ducked back inside the dome before either of the Gawtrybe above saw her. And then she could retreat down the stairs before either squirrel descended from the roof to question the weasels on duty. If all went according to plan, it really would look like Mona had decided to jump, and join her Sword in Dark Forest.

It was almost too perfect.

Joska debated whether to instruct the two weasels to accompany her out onto the balcony. On the one paw, it would be reassuring to have somebeast to back her up in case Mona saw her coming and put up a robust defense; on the other, Joska knew she could move more quickly and quietly on her own, and having two lumbering malebeasts with her might prove the very thing that prevented her from taking Mona unaware. And if this really was to look like an accident or an intentional, deliberate jump, it would be harder for all three of them to get back inside and off the balcony before the Gawtrybe above peered over the roof's edge to investigate. She supposed that if Mona gave her too much of a struggle she could always fall back on her poisoned blade after all, and then let the chips fall where they would. She reassured herself with the reminder that Jaffox was in charge of Foxguard now, so even if the Gawtrybe did witness the foul deed, the big fox could step in and "punish" her as he saw fit … and if that punishment turned out to be no punishment at all, well, who was she to go against Foxguard's new Sword?

At last, she whispered to the weasel pair, "Stand ready to come to my aid if I need you, but otherwise, let me handle this on my own."

The two at first just looked at her blankly, and Joska inwardly cursed; could it truly be that they intended to look the other way and offer no help beyond that? But no; the ones in the kitchen had pointed out Tolar and Mona's plates to her, and then made sure the proper meals found their way into the right paws. The weasels had already proved willing to do far more than merely stand aside and feign innocence, and these two needed to be reminded of that now.

"Tolar is dead," she hissed in both warning and encouragement. "All is going according to plan. Once we take care of Mona, Foxguard will be ours. Don't disappoint Jaffox."

This seemed to do the trick. The two weasels stood, a look of obedient readiness on their faces, and they now appeared willing to fall into step and follow her lead. Satisfied, she turned and crept toward the doorway to the balcony, her two male accomplices padding along behind her.


	69. Chapter LXVIII

**LXVIII.**

 **FOXFALL II**

To the surprise of many, Jaffox made his first point of order after confirmation of Tolar's death the assembling of his entire Northland squad just inside the perimeter wall entry tunnel. At first it looked as if he was massing his loyal forces there to prevent any members of the swordfox brigade - or anybeast else - from leaving Foxguard, but his true motives soon became clear. The foxes of Tolar's brigade were too focused on what was happening inside their walls to notice the runner Jaffox had dispatched, and before anybeast realized what was happening, Bryn's valley horde began filing under the wall and up onto the fortress grounds, under Jaffox's immediate direction.

Dijax came storming over to the scene. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Allowin' sworn an' loyal troops of Lord Urthblood's inside one of His Lordship's strongholds, as I'm well within my rights t' do, an' as they've got a right to be doin' too."

"Tolar's orders were that - "

"Tolar's dead," Jaffox interrupted the veteran swordfox. "An' he may've been poisoned, by somebeast who's still inside Foxguard at this very moment. Now we know all these fine fighters of Lieutenant Bryn's were outside the walls when it happened, so none of 'em coulda done it, which makes 'em just what we need now t' maintain order."

"We can maintain order ourselves," Dijax bit off as Collijack, drawn to the scene, sidled up alongside Jaffox. "This … horde … was not to be permitted inside the walls."

"I'm reversin' that order. An' with Tolar dead, I'm in charge 'ere now. Lord Urthblood's direct orders, 'member? Now, I know _I_ didn't poison our good former Sword, but how do I know it wasn't one o' _you_?"

"What?!"

"Hey, fer all I know, some o' you became unsatisfied with how he was runnin' things 'round 'ere, mebbe got it inta yer heads that you could do a better job yerselves an' so decided t' stage a takeover."

"We don't murder each other!" Dijax exploded.

"Then I expect my investergation'll bear that out," Jaffox returned coolly as Bryn's fighters continued to stream up onto the fortress grounds. "But make no mistake, it'll be _my_ investergation, conducted as I see fit, an' I expect ev'ry fox, weasel an' squirrel inside Foxguard t' grant me full cooperation in this, no matter what uniform they wear. An' if you don't like it, you can run down to the cellar where your two superiors 're standin' over Tolar's body, an' cry to them about it."

Dijax turned a wordless gaze upon Collijack, seeking confirmation on just where the squirrel sergeant stood in all of this. Collijack fidgeted for a moment, looking as if he struggled with swallowing something distasteful, then gave a curt nod. "Lord Urthblood's directives were most clear on the matter of succession of command. Jaffox was to be installed as Foxguard's second-in-command below Tolar, the implication being that he would assume leadership of this stronghold should anything befall Tolar. I have no choice but to interpret His Lordship's orders thus. Therefore, the Gawtrybe stand in support of Jaffox as acting Sword of Foxguard."

"Even if he murdered his way to get there?' Dijax snapped at Collijack.

"Have a care there, blackshirt," Jaffox warned the swordfox. "Don't go makin' accusations y' can't prove. I'm yer chief now, like it or not, an' - "

A shrill, piercing, distant scream interrupted the big fox, and all eyes turned just in time to see a flailing, skirted, bushtailed figure plunging along the side of the tower to smash into the roof of the three-story fortress building encircling the base of the soaring edifice. They were too far away to hear the impact of furred flesh against unyielding stone, but the way the scream of terror suddenly cut off left no doubt as to the fate of the doomed creature.

"What the fur … " Collijack muttered.

A sour, resigned look came over Jaffox's face. "Looks like somebeast's fallen from th' tower. Guess I'd best go see what _that's_ about … since I'm in charge o' things 'round here now. 'tenant Bryn, you have yer orders fer deployin' yer troops 'round the grounds an' walltop, so get to it." Levelling a gaze at Dijax, he added, "Don't want any more upset, after ev'rything else that's already happened, do we?"

Confident he'd put the swordfoxes properly in their places and that Bryn would see to distributing his valley horde throughout Foxguard's premises in a suitably thorough and intimidating manner, with the Gawtrybe and his own foxes to help enforce his newfound authority, Jaffox strode off toward the fortress building and the scene of this latest tragedy. Once inside, he proceeded straight up the central spiralling staircase past the third floor to where he knew the building's design featured an open, full-length window leading right out onto the circular roof. Stepping out onto the stone there, he found a number of creatures gathered around the body, although most averted their gazes, and nearly all looked ill.

"Poor Mona," a weasel was heard to softly bemoan.

One look was all Jaffox needed to see that this final piece in his plans had fallen - most literally - into perfect place. Under the gathering dusk, Mona's distinctive blouse and skirt were plain to make out, and the state of the body left no doubt whatsoever that this vixen would never rise again.

"What happened?" he demanded of the witnesses.

Two Gawtrybe stepped forward, looking more professionally composed than most of the others but still visibly distressed by this incident. "We were standing our assigned sentry duty up here," one volunteered, "when we heard the scream. Good thing too, because that gave us the moments we needed to scramble clear, 'cos she was coming down right on top of us. Coulda killed us, from that height, if she'd landed atop one of us."

"Lucky for you, then. Go on."

"Not much more to say, sir. She came down headfirst, I think - it all happened so fast. However she landed, it made her skull burst like a melon."

"So I see. Glad I already had my supper, 'cos that'd put me off my appetite. Guess she couldn't face th' prospect of goin' on without her beloved Sword. Pity - she did make this place prettier … tho' she was far more fetchin' with her brains on the inside. Somebeast get this mess cleaned up, an' make 'er body ready fer burial. We'll hold a twin funeral, layin' her an' Tolar to rest side by side just like they woulda wanted."

As Jaffox made his way off the roof, he encountered Dijax staring out at the scene from the tower portal. "Gonna blame me fer this too," the bigger fox half-snarled at the bladebeast, "even though me 'n' my foxes were all out on th' grounds when it 'appened?"

Dijax glared at Jaffox. "Everything bad that happens at Foxguard is your fault."

"Better hope that turns 'round real quick, then, since ye're all takin' yer orders from me now," Jaffox said, and brusquely pushed past the fox in black. Dijax stared daggers at him as he retreated down the staircase, but held to his spot, teeth grinding.

At the bottom, by the central shaft, Jaffox found Collijack waiting for him. "Do you want me to go up with you, Commander?"

"Up?"

"Well, of course. Don't you want to investigate the scene of the crime yourself, interview any possible witnesses?"

"First off, got no reason t' think t'was any crime t'all. From all 'pearances, looks like Mona jumped, endin' her life by her own paw."

Collijack swallowed. "So, it was Mona then?"

"Aye. Saw th' body with my own eyes up there jus' now, an' t'weren't pretty. Funny how all th' sheen goes out of a beast's fur when they die, ain't it? Secondly, we've no way of knowin' whether anybeast actshully saw her go over, or if she just jumped when nobeast was lookin', which seems likeliest t' me."

"All the more reason to go up there and find out for yourself," Collijack countered. "Besides, if she really did jump of her own accord, why did she unleash such a bloodcurdling scream on the way down?"

Jaffox shrugged. "Last-moment regrets? Second thoughts? Kinda hard t' change yer mind an' take back yer decision when ye're halfway 'tween the sky an' the ground, an' fallin' fast. Mebbe realizin' she was about t' die filled her with terror, an' she reacted the only way she could. Braver beasts than her have spent their final moments shriekin' their fear fer all th' world t' hear."

"I … suppose."

"Oh, an' one more thing, Sergeant."

"Yes?"

"Don't address me as 'Commander' anymore. My title's 'Sword' now - unless or until Lord Urthblood says otherwise. Got it?"

Collijack nodded after a moment's hesitation. "Understood … Sword. So, are you going up to investigate what went on in the observation dome? Because I am, even if you're not. I'll want a report from my two Gawtrybe who were on signal mirror duty, if nothing else."

Jaffox regarded the squirrel, then seemed to reconsider his stance. "S'pose ye're right - I oughta go up there an' take a look 'round after all. Who knows what we'll find there, eh?" He reached out and grabbed the rope for the signalling bell, giving it three sharp yanks; the faint echoes of the bell in the observation dome far above drifted down to their ears as the merest ghostly suggestion of sound. "Gonna take awhile, tho'. They gotta get th' lift lowered all th' way back down to us, an' then hauled back up agin."

"It will still be faster than climbing, and far less tiring, too," Collijack responded. "And if they're aware at all that Mona went off the balcony - and I don't see how they couldn't be - they'll be expecting somebeast in authority to be summoning the lift. And, unless my eyes deceive me, I believe it's on the way down already."

Fox and squirrel waited together in uncomfortable silence for the lift to arrive. At last the platform thunked down onto the stone floor of the circular shaft, the two of them stepped up onto it and Jaffox yanked at the bell rope again to let the weasels up above know to reverse their winding of the winch and bring the lift back to the summit. When Collijack saw that Jaffox wasn't making any move to ring the smaller bell on the platform itself to let the catcher beam crews know their progress, the squirrel paced across to perform the duty himself.

"I noticed," Collijack remarked between bell strikes, "that the lift was empty when it came down."

"O' course. There's only two weasels up there on winch duty, an' yer two Gawtrybe lookouts. Who coulda been on it?"

"Maybe somebeast who wasn't supposed to be up there."

"Stow that suspicious mind o' yers, Sergeant, an' I think we'll get along jus' fine."

As they passed the first timber-beam station - and the next several after that - Jaffox looked hard into the eyes of the weasels staffing them, outlined in the portals of their respective levels. All returned his gaze with knowing ones of their own, along with the occasional conspiratorial nod which Collijack might easily mistake for acknowledgment of Jaffox as their new garrison commander. It was their way of letting the big fox know that Joska had passed them on her way to the summit - as if he needed any more confirmation of that beyond Mona's near-headless body - and that they knew what was going on here, and the part they had to play in it.

"Such an unwieldy system," commented Collijack during a lull between tollings. "There's got to be some better way of doing this."

"Oh, I dunno. Naught like this tower elsewhere in th' lands, an' fer sumpthin' this tall, I think we do pretty well. Long as we got our weasels t' spin that crank handle an' look after these safety timbers, I'd say we're in good shape. Wouldja rather climb?"

At length they reached the observation dome, the two weasels looking exhausted by their lowering and raising of the lift. A lamp had been lit against what was now almost full night, lending an odd dual air to the curved-ceilinged chamber that made it seem both homey and starkly cavernous. One of the Gawtrybe lookouts stood at attention to receive his sergeant while the other presumably remained up on the roof in case any flashed messages came in from Salamandastron. He snapped a salute Collijack's way.

"What happened?" Collijack demanded.

"Wish I could tell you, Sergeant. All we heard was the scream. By the time we made it to the edge and looked down, it was all over - just an empty balcony with nobeast to be seen anywhere. I raced down to see if I could find out what had happened, and the weasels told me that Mona appeared to have thrown herself from the tower."

"Did you know she was up here?"

"Aye. We could hear the bell to signal that somebeast was on the way up, so I waited here to make sure it wasn't you, or some other messenger of importance to us. When I saw it was Mona, and that she bore no news of import, I returned to my duty."

"No news of import?" Collijack repeated. "Did she not inform you of the death of Sword Tolar?"

The lookout squirrel reared back at this news, then glanced toward Jaffox, appreciating the big fox's presence in an entirely different light as the new master of Foxguard. "No … no, she didn't. How … "

"May've been th' stress an' strain, may've been poisoned," Jaffox supplied. "Investergation's ongoin'. Fer all I know, Mona poisoned her himself, then came up here an' jumped outta guilt. Who can say?"

Collijack's head snapped around at Jaffox's proposition of this new and outlandish theory. "Why would she have done that? To her own mate?"

"Mates don't allers get along. Who knows what goes on at night behind closed doors? An' there's a certain glassmaker dogfox Mona's been spendin' way too much time with of late. P'raps he should be th' first one I question, find out just what's been goin' on 'tween th' two of 'em."

Collijack turned back to the lookout. "How did Mona seem, when you saw her?"

"She did seem upset about something, but she didn't volunteer any details, indicating she wished to be left alone, so she just went right out to the balcony and I returned to my post. In all honesty, we'd almost forgotten she was up here, until we heard the scream. We hurried down, found the weasels in here looking unsure what to do themselves, and we all went out to investigate. That's when we leaned out over the balcony wall - very carefully, of course - and saw where she'd landed on the fortress roof. And that's … when we knew."

Collijack went from his fellow squirrel to the two weasels. "Can either of you add anything to this?"

Both shook their heads. "Nay," said one, "'tis all as 'ee said. Never even told us anything 'bout Tolar. Is it true? Is 'ee actshully dead?"

"That he is," Jaffox affirmed. "I'm Foxguard's Sword now."

"Um … er … congratcherlations, sir?"

"Thank you. Now, is there aught more you can tell us 'bout what happened?"

"Er, nay, not really. She was all withdrawn-like, Mona was, not speakin' much t' anybeast, so we just figgered we'd leave her be, 'til she was ready t' go down again."

"And there was nobeast else up here?" Collijack inquired.

"Uh, no. How could there've been?"

This seemed to satisfy Collijack, who dismissed his fellow squirrel. As the lookout ascended the interior staircase back up to the mirror station, the Gawtrybe sergeant said to Jaffox, "While we're up here, we may as well go take a look out on the balcony ourselves, just to make sure there's nothing out there worth seeing."

"Right behind you, Sergeant."

As Collijack proceeded out onto the balcony, Jaffox silently mouthed to the weasels, "Joska?" One pointed unobtrusively toward the stairway, which only made sense, because where else could she have gone? Giving the merest half-nod of acknowledgment, Jaffox followed out after the squirrel.

In the darkening dusk, Collijack found himself depending on Jaffox's vulpine night vision. Locating the spot where Mona had gone over by lining it up with the landing spot below, now lit up by the lamps of the cleanup crew, they inspected the walls and floor of that area by eye, nose and paw, seeking out any clue or evidence which might shed light on this tragedy - a note, some small trinket or belonging, or any telltale sign that somebeast else might have been up here besides Mona. But their efforts turned up nothing.

Back inside the dome, Jaffox noticed Collijack's perplexed look. "Why so bothered, Sergeant? She musta jumped, or fallen, plain 'n' simple, with no evidence to th' contrary. We found out what we came up here t' find out, an' that's that, far as I'm concerned."

Collijack sighed. "I was just hoping we'd discover something a bit more … conclusive. There will be questions about what happened at Foxguard this day, Jaffox, and - "

"Sword," the big fox cut off the squirrel. "My title's Sword now. Don't forget it."

"You call yourself that all you want, and you'll get no argument about it from me. But there are others at Foxguard who'll not be so quick to embrace it, or to accept you as the new Sword."

"Aw, I'll whip 'em inta line soon 'nuff, don't you worry 'bout that. It's mostly just those fancy blackshirts I gotta worry 'bout, an' they're hopelessly outnumbered by those who support me now."

Collijack lowered his voice as he shot a glance toward the two weasels. "Tolar's brigade aren't the only longtime residents of this stronghold you'll need to win over."

"Oh, them?" Jaffox didn't even bother lowering his voice to match Collijack's. "After today, I ain't worried over our weasel friends. I trust 'em t' show th' good sense of knowin' which way the wind's blowin', an' t' stand where the breezes suit 'em best."

The Gawtrybe squirrel didn't stop to ponder the half-hidden significance of Jaffox's "after today" allusion. "I've told you that I'll support you, but that's only for the sake of order, and in the absence of any clear alternative in the context of Lord Urthblood's orders. You were to be installed as Tolar's second-in-command, as much as Tolar himself might have resisted such an arrangement, which meant that if anything happened to him, you would take over as commander of Foxguard in his stead. But the highly suspicious circumstances under which this has all happened … " Collijack shook his head ruefully. "My Gawtrybe and I will back you up to the extent that we can, but if this turns into open conflict, we might have to stand back and let you foxes work it out between yourselves."

Jaffox's mouth turned downward. "Well, I'd keep that attitude just 'tween th' two of us, Sergeant. You an' me, we came down from th' Northlands t'gether, an' t'gether we brought in that valley horde, then cleaned out a big stretch o' northeast Mossflower of all its rats. I was countin' on th' two of us continuin' t' work t'gether on what needed doin'. An' on ev'rybeast else seein' it th' same way too; that's why I argued fer you stayin' behind as rankin' Gawtrybe officer here. So if ye're havin' second thoughts now, do us both a favor an' keep 'em to yerself. 'Cos in the case of Tolar's swordfoxes, the mere appearance that ye're on my side'll serve me as well as if you actshully are."

Collijack digested this, then gave a sullen nod. "I've already done as much, outside at the gate earlier, so it's too late for me to go back on that in any case - as long as things remain as they are now. But if it does come out that you had Tolar killed, you may just find Gawtrybe support for you evaporating like fog on a sunny day … and I won't care who finds out about it."

"Already told you an' ev'rybeast else with ears, I didn't poison nobeast. An' if it turns out 'ee _was_ poisoned, I'll find th' culprit. I'll have Joska do an examination of th' body, if those black-clad fools'll let 'er go anywhere close to their worshipped Sword. With poor Mona gone, my Joss is the only one left who's qualified to make such a study anyways." Jaffox's gaze went to the stairway leading down into the tower. "So, if we're done 'ere, an' I know I am, think I'll head down now - an' I think I'll take th' stairs."

"The stairs? That will take … Sword, with the state of things at Foxguard right now, don't you want to get back down as quickly as you can, to see to things in the fortress?"

"Need to be alone fer a bit, clear my head an' do some thinkin' on things." Eyeing the water pitcher on the weasels' smaller table, Jaffox crossed to it and drained its remains into a tumbler for himself. "Better wet th' whistle 'fore I start down. Warm summer nights like this make that tower downright stuffy." Quaffing the tepid water greedily, he slammed the cup back down on the table, traded one last furtive and knowing glance with the two weasels, then turned to start his descent.

Collijack made to follow. "I might as well come with you then … "

Jaffox halted him with an upraised paw. "Nay, Sergeant. Like I said, need some time by m'self, to get some thinkin' done. You take th' lift down - an' that's an order."

The squirrel accepted this uncertainly. "As … you say, Sword."

Jaffox commenced his downward climb wondering just how far Joska had descended. On the one paw, it would have been like her to be hovering just a few steps down and out of sight, eager to listen in to whatever was said up here in the aftermath of Mona's murder - and, after her long and no doubt tiring ascent, she might not have been in any hurry to head back down right away. Then again, she could not risk being discovered up here at the scene of the crime, and all the questions that would raise, so she may well have retreated a considerable distance to avoid any such encounter. At least she'd possessed enough sense to remain out of sight during Jaffox and Collijack's lift ride, staying clear of any of the open shaft portals where the weasels staffed the safety beams.

He reached the first of those stations without seeing any signs of his vixen cohort. Above and behind him he could dimly hear the progress bell of the lift, Collijack ringing it to let the weasels know to pull aside the catcher beams so he could pass. As the platform drew level with the opening in the shaft wall, the squirrel spotted Jaffox standing there on the stairs. "Sure you don't care to join me, Sword?"

Jaffox waved him off dismissively. "See you down there, Sergeant."

"As you wish," Collijack said, dropping out of sight as the light from the lift lamp faded into the darkness below and the safety team slid the timbers back into place.

Turning to the two weasels, Jaffox asked, "Where's Joska?"

One of the pair pointed dow the spiralling stairs. "Vixen headed down that way, sir."

"Did she have anything t' say?"

"Um, nay, sir, she didn't. Tho' she looked rather satisfied with 'erself, she did. Guessin' it had sumpthin' t' do with that scream we 'eard?"

"Aye, it mighta. But don't you worry yerselves 'bout that. Carry on."

As he neared the second safety station a fewscore steps below the first - and still with no sign of Joska in sight - Jaffox started to feel the closeness of the summer-warmed tower stones taking a greater toll on his stamina than anticipated. Certainly, the sandstone architecture had had all day to soak up the sun and now radiated that absorbed heat back out into the narrow confines of the soaring structure, and it was true that Jaffox had had a busy and tiring day, but even so, he thought his elation at being so near his goal ought to be carrying him along better than this. His legs felt sluggish, his arms stiff, and his other muscles tightened and loosened in spasms as if he'd just fought a battle, except without the boost of energizing adrenaline. Shaking it off, just as he dismissed any form of personal weakness, he pressed on.

The second pair of weasels could tell him no more than the first - only that Joska had passed them without word or comment on her way down the spiral staircase.

"Guess she means t' go all th' way down," Jaffox grumbled. "Wouldn't thunk it, after her climb up. She'll be one tired vix t'night. M'raps I shoulda tooken th' lift aft'r all … "

The two weasels traded a glance between them, then one asked, "You alright, sir? Ye're slurrin' yer words a bit, an' ye're lookin' a bit woozy on yer paws there … "

"I'm fine," he growled, pushing past them. "Mind ye' own business, if y' know what's good f'yoo."

"Um, aye, sir!"

Several dozen steps below that, Jaffox knew he was in trouble, sinking to the stone stairs to get off legs that could no longer support him. His mind and senses remained sharp, his awareness attuned to his surroundings and his own state, his train of thought unimpeded by whatever affected his body. This painless, creeping paralysis was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, either through battle fatigue, sickness or overindulgence of spirits. It was like his body was falling asleep of its own volition, stranding him here on these high stairs without giving him any say in the matter. It was a kind of helplessness Jaffox found abhorrent, yet for all that he inwardly railed against it, he found himself powerless to overcome it.

It was then that the vixen appeared below him, emerging ghostlike from the darkness as she cautiously ascended toward him.

Jaffox narrowed his eyes as his affectless form slumped further into an involuntary sprawl on the staircase. "Joska, you … you bi … p-p'son'd me … "

"Oh, it wasn't poison," came the female voice through the gloom. "Just a little something to make you docile, and manageable. I've tested it on myself, so I know exactly what you're feeling now. I suspected you'd come chasing down after your favorite vixen to conspire further, and that you'd likely want a long drink before such an exertion, but if I'd not gotten you that way, it would have been some other. It was just a matter of time … "

Something about the voice was off, although Jaffox couldn't quite put his paw on what it was, not until Joska knelt to bring herself nose-to-nose with him and he saw that it wasn't Joska at all.

"It was … inevitable," Mona taunted him in an assured whisper.

Mona. Wearing Joska's clothes.

It was then that Jaffox realized this night would likely be his last. For in the vindictive vixen's eyes he saw no trace of compassion or forgiveness. He imagined it must have been very much like looking into his own gaze.

"H … h'w … 'd y' … "

"See? The paralytic effects are really kicking in. Soon you'll be able to do no more than grunt. Luckily for you, you have an attentive healer vixen right here who'll see to all your needs once you're unable to move your tongue, or anything else. How did I do it, you were trying to ask? I knew either you or Joska were bound to follow me up here when I'd be alone and vulnerable, to finish off what you started. I'm glad it was her, because otherwise my weasels would have had to forcibly ambush you, and that would have gotten messy. As it was, they only had to grab Joska and clamp her muzzle shut while I put her in a chokehold to make her pass out. I know how to do that, since I'm a healerbeast, see? And Tolar has given me some pointers on fighting techniques these past few seasons - one of the advantages to having Foxguard's Sword as my mate. Anyway, once Joska was unconscious, I swapped her garments for mine, and spiked the water pitcher, knowing you'd likely be up to secretly consult with her, and because it would look odd if you didn't investigate. We might end up with some paralyzed Gawtrybe out of this as well, but the effect is temporary, and I'm sure they'll forgive me once they recover. Joska was starting to come around again by that time, so it was up and over the balcony wall with her. I'm glad she was awake for the fall, even if I could have done without the scream - it's what she deserved. For Sappakit, and for poisoning Tolar. I was counting on the switch of clothes and the dark of evening to convince you that I was the one who'd fallen, hoping you wouldn't inspect the body closely enough to realize it was Joska and not me."

"Mmm - mmrrr - d'drrr … "

"Murder? No, I wouldn't call it that. You and Joska were the ones who tried to murder Foxguard. What I did tonight was just self-defense. What I did was justice."

Jaffox struggled to force out something else from his increasingly unresponsive mouth, but it emerged as unintelligible groaning.

"Hmm - I think it's time." Mona stood to her full height and called out, "Here! We're up here!" Within moments, a quartet of weasels appeared from the staircase below, summoned seemingly on command. The vixen stepped over Jaffox to give them room to work, leaning down close to his ear as she did. "Oh, and in case you've not figured it out on your own by now, the weasels were never on your side."

Coordinating their efforts, each weasel took an arm or leg and lifted Jaffox up off the stone steps, then huffed their way down the staircase with his limp and unresisting form in their grasp. Mona brought up the rear, observing their treatment of the big fox to be none too gentle as he occasionally bumped his head against the uneven stone underpaw.

"Show some care," Mona lightly admonished. "It'd be a shame to dash his brains out before we can even get him down to the cellars."

It was still a long way down, but the weasels, appreciating the stakes, gave their best valiant effort and bore Jaffox clear down to the fortress levels in good time. By design, the only creatures they passed within the tower were their fellow weasels, who nodded wordlessly and stepped aside to let them by. This changed when they reached the fortress proper, where foxes and squirrels began to join the mix of beasts. Here Mona slipped back into the fursona of Joska, keeping her head down and barking out orders in a rough imitation of the other vixen's voice. "Make way, comin' through, make way, give room! He's been stricken! Our new Sword's been stricken! Gotta get 'im down to the infirmary!" Positioned behind Jaffox and the weasels as she was, nobeast paid nearly as much attention to her as to the formidable Northlander, now struck helpless in the paws of his bearers. Which didn't stop Dijax from reaching out to roughly grab her by the arm as she brushed by him on the third floor staircase. Glowering, the swordfox growled, "Not so fast, murderess. You've got a lot … to … "

He stammered to a standstill as Mona looked him in the eye and he came to fully realize just which vixen he confronted now. With the ghost of a smile, Mona raised a claw to her lips imploring silence on his part, then turned and was on her way again. Dijax stood where he was, looking after her, content to leave the matter in her paws and confident for the first time that season that Foxguard's biggest problem was about to be taken care of once and for all.

More beasts closed in around them as they descended through the fortress, clamoring for answers and explanations, but Mona bluffed her way through all of them, plowing past all questions and imprecations from longtime Foxguarders, Gawtrybe and Jaffox's own foxes alike. Only when they reached the cellars did they find themselves mostly alone, save for the vigil-keepers in and around the surgery, making sure none of Jaffox's beasts got anywhere near Tolar. For a secret lay within that guarded chamber, a secret more and more of the swordfoxes were coming to learn even as everybeast else was kept in the dark about it, and it was a secret they were bound to protect with their lives.

Instead of bearing Jaffox there, however, the weasels hustled him around to the closed door of the central chamber directly below the lift shaft and tower. Mona gave her customary pattern of five knocks - two, then one, then two more - and within moments the door creaked open, Kyslith peering anxiously out through the narrow opening.

"We're here. Let us in."

The glassmaker fox stood aside and did as bidden, a look of serious misgiving on his face as the weasels pushed past him with Jaffox. "H-how did it … go?"

"All according to plan," the vixen answered, her attention still focused on the big fox. "Couldn't have been better … and after tonight, you may never need to lock your workshop door again." Addressing the weasels, she directed, "Put him up there, on the bench, then wait outside. And … thank you, my friends. I know you took great risk to play your part in this, and your loyalty won't be forgotten."

"Don't mention it, marm. We'll be just as relieved t' be rid o' him as you are." The other three nodded to indicate they felt the same, and then the quartet withdrew into the corridor to await further instructions.

Mona looked to Kyslith, the male fox still displaying ample nervousness. "You should go too. You won't want to be here for this."

Kyslith swallowed, struggling to show resolve. "I don't want to leave you alone … with him." His gaze went to the supine form of Jaffox on the bench abutting the covered steel tub.

"Yes, that is a concern … and I do see signs that the effects are starting to wear off. A beast his size requires a heavier dosage to be kept paralyzed. We'll just see to that … " Withdrawing a small corked vial from the pocket of Joska's borrowed shirt, Mona crossed to the high bench, unstopped the vial and poured the remaining contents down Jaffox's throat as she tipped his head back and forced his mouth open. Jaffox sputtered and choked, trying to reject the potion, but had not yet recovered enough control over his tongue and throat to spit back more than a fraction of what he swallowed.

Mona stepped back, satisfied. "There. That should hold him until it's time." She inclined her head toward the chain crank along the wall to one side. "Do you want the honors, or shall I?"

Kyslith blanched. "Isn't it … too soon? Shouldn't we … I mean … "

Mona scowled. "We can't be squeamish about this. Not now that we're committed to this course." She padded over to the winch, took firm hold of its spindles and started to crank. Slowly, one paw's breadth at a time, the domed lid of the vast steel tub tilted upward, exposing more and more of the rippling surface beneath. A vague aroma wafted through the chamber, tart and redolent of a vinegary aspect, permeating the workshop - not enough to sting the eyes and burn the throat, but sufficient to set the nose and whiskers atwitch.

At length, the lid stood fully raised, and Mona rejoined Kyslith as both regarded the once-more-quiescent Jaffox, one with continued trepidation and the other with more eager anticipation than she dared show.

"What now?" Kyslith asked, quavering voice just above a whisper.

"Now we wait. It shouldn't be long now."

And it wasn't. A black-clad figure appeared at the workshop doorway, taking in the scene before stepping fully across the threshold. Running his gaze up and down Mona, dressed in Joska's garments, he grimaced. "Can't say that's a good look for you."

"It did the trick. How are you feeling, Tolar?"

"A little woozy and out of sorts, as was to be expected, I suppose. Between the antidote for hemlock and nightshade you've been feeding me these past few days, then the poison itself, and then the paralyzing agent on top of all that, I'm feeling a little like I've been knocked around by a badger." His face hardened as his gaze settled on Jaffox. "But I'm good for what needs to be done."

"Good. I had to give you enough of the paralytic to fool Jaffox into thinking you'd stopped breathing, and your heart had stilled. Fortunately, he was in such a hurry to believe that his own scheme had worked, he didn't examine you closely enough to discover our ruse - and lucky for us that Joska never performed an examination of her own, because she almost certainly would have detected that you still drew breath, and your heart beat on."

"Yes, luck was with us this day - although poor Haddican and Remillard were quite shocked when I started to revive. If it weren't for the message you had the weasels pass to them to sit tight and not act against Jaffox, they might have abandoned me to do just that, clearing the way for Jaffox or Joska to have slipped a dagger between my ribs, just to make sure the job was finished to their satisfaction."

"Where are Haddican and Remillard now?"

"Making sure we won't be disturbed - and spreading the word throughout the brigade that it was not our revered healer vixen who fell from the tower, in spite of all appearances, and that Foxguard's true Sword lives still. We'll be sure to keep Jaffox's own ruffians in the dark so that they still believe Jaffox and Joska have succeeded in taking control of the fortress."

"A few of his brutes saw us bearing Jaffox down to the cellars, so there'll be questions and uncertainty among them as to their chief's health. They may try to come down to investigate, thinking that I - meaning Joska - pulled some treachery on him."

"Well, they'd be half-right - but it was treachery justified in answer to their own. And all the more reason to be done with this quickly, before they can become a problem." Tolar looked to the glassmaker fox. "Friend Kyslith, my mate has still not fully explained to me your role in all of this, but for whatever you have done to help save Foxguard from falling into barbarism, I am grateful, so thank you. For now, however, you must leave us."

Kyslith seemed about to protest, then gave a nod and ducked out into the corridor, leaving Sword and vixen to themselves. Mona followed after him and closed the door - not tightly, but enough so that nobeast outside would see or hear what happened next.

Tolar stepped over to the tub; Jaffox stared up at him with eyes both angry and terrified, but the Sword gazed impassively past his immobilized prisoner to study the steel vat and its contents, even as Mona joined him at his side. "Is … this what I think it is?"

"Of course. Trelayne, peace be upon his soul, used it in his craft, and now it will avail us as well in our own needs."

"Where did it come from?"

"I made it."

Tolar's head snapped around as he stared at her, aghast. "You?!"

"Yes. Kyslith showed me how. Now we can always have a supply on paw, even after he returns to Salamandastron."

"We'll see about _that_." Tolar's gaze settled on Jaffox. "So, how do we do this?"

"I'll show you." Mona moved around her mate to lean down over Jaffox's face. "You've probably guessed what's in this tub, but if you haven't, you'll be in for quite a surprise - at least for a few moments. You never should have come here, Jaffox, and tried to play your treacherous games with us. You never should have been born at all - and we're about to rectify that right now. Goodbye, Jaffox." She stepped back and addressed Tolar. "Anything you'd like to say to him, before we …"

"No, I think you said it best, for both of us. So … let's do this."

Mona fetched two long wooden poles leaning against the wall, giving one to Tolar. "Courtesy of our ferry raft crews out by the canal; they won't miss them for our needs. We'll want to use these to push him in, in case there's a splash. If just a little gets on you, it could kill you."

Tolar gave a sour look of disapproval as he accepted his own pole. "This is a dangerous toy for you to be playing with, Mona, and I can't say I approve."

"Let's see how you feel about it once it disposes of your biggest problem."

On the raised bench alongside the open vat, Jaffox could be heard to emit what might have been a whimper.

Taking up their positions and bracing themselves for their deadly effort, Tolar and Mona brought their poles to bear, the Sword digging his into Jaffox's arm while the vixen did likewise into his thigh. Their victim's hulking bulk made their job hard, requiring heavy exertion just to budge him one tiny bit at a time, edging him incrementally closer to the edge of his platform and the lip of the open tub.

"We … should have others … in here … helping … " Tolar grunted as he pushed for all he was worth in his weakened state.

"No … it must be us … this is for our eyes only … push harder, my Sword … "

Horrible sounds came from Jaffox's mouth, a string of pleas and protests his tongue could not voice nor his lips form. Tolar succeeded first, shifting the big fox's upper half just enough that head, shoulders and torso tipped and rolled off the bench and into the tub, taking legs and tail after them and freeing Mona of her own burden. The two foxes retreated several steps as the fluid roiled and fizzed and foamed; knowing Jaffox to be totally immobilized, Tolar was surprised by the energy of the unrelenting, unforgiving chemical reaction. He could almost have believed Jaffox had come fully back to himself and now thrashed around below the surface - not that that would have done him any good now.

Even as the frenzied bubbling and boiling went on, thick vapors began to rise from the vat. Mona passed Tolar a dampened kerchief. "Put that over your mouth and snout. Try not to breathe in any of the fumes. And squint your eyes. There's venting to the outside from this chamber, but it won't be able to handle this much all at once."

Tolar did as bidden, regarding the vixen with concern; Mona's eyes remained fixed on the vat in an unbreakable gaze. "You should leave. You shouldn't see this."

"I _have_ to see this. It will be over soon, very soon."

And it was. In far less time than Tolar would have believed, the roiling and bubbling tapered off to a far more subdued fizzling, the billowing vapors disappearing to give a clear view into the vat once more. Mona crept forward, stepping up onto the base of the bench to better peer down into the fluid. Tolar moved to join her, incredulous in spite of all he'd heard about this solution over the seasons that he might look now and find no trace of Jaffox, or at least no remains indentifiable as anything that had once been an adult, formidably-proportioned dogfox. Yet that was exactly what Tolar found now .. or, more to the point, didn't find.

"Sweet mother of forest and mountain … "

Mona looked at him with a mix of confidence and adulation. "See? I told you Foxguard needed the vitriol."

Shocked and mortified by what he'd just taken part in, Tolar backed away from the tub, kerchief still clutched to his snout. "Let's get out of here."

"Not just yet." Mona joined him at the chamber door, holding it closed with one paw to forestall him. "We have just rid the lands of Jaffox - forever - but his followers don't know that yet. They believe he and Joska are still in charge of Foxguard, but as soon as you reappear they'll know their side lost. We must prepare for that before you show yourself again. It's not enough that your brigade is learning that you have survived, and Joska has not. We only have a limited window in which to reassert our control over Foxguard, and we must act quickly."

Through his lightheaded weakness and emotional turmoil, Tolar saw the truth and wisdom of her words. "When I am fully recovered from this ordeal, Mona, I will thank you properly for helping me to protect Foxguard from this threat."

"I will hold you to that, my love. But for now, action demands our attention. You see to Bryn, and I'll take care of Joska's sisters."


	70. Chapter LXIX

**LXIX.**

 **REDWALL**

"Captain Redclaw, I have two beasts here I'd very much like you to meet."

For a change, Tratton and Talarek had settled upon the west walltop rather than the east, looking out over the Western Plains instead of the deep forest fastness of Mossflower Woods. The sun had set a short time before, and now - even as the power struggle at Foxguard unfolded in its macabre and gruesome ultimate act unbeknownst to any Abbey resident or guest - the two searats sat digesting their evening meal and staring out at the crimson-streaked evening sky, ribbons of cloud like celestial tideline sand ridges set glowing by the day's final rays stabbing up from below the horizon. Down in the road below the ramparts, Sergeant Poinsett and her Gawtrybe, along with Tratton's searat escort, all continued to bide their time, the squirrels clearly growing impatient and antsy over how long the Searat King tarried at Redwall while the nautical rodents were quite content to allow their sovereign to linger at the Abbey for as long as it suited him. His guards might harbor some misgivings about not being allowed within to perform their appointed duty of providing Tratton the full measure of their protection, but they knew better than to show any displeasure over the situation which might be construed as displeasure with their King, and so they satisfied themselves with the occasional appearances upon the battlements that Tratton gave them.

Into this idyllic summer twilit scene Winokur now intruded, with two rats tagging along at his rudder. The otter Recorder, now very well known to Tratton and Talarek, nevertheless approached with respectful, cautious openness, and had seemingly instructed his two companions to do likewise … not that the woodland rat duo needed any special bidding to make their own approach tremulous.

Tratton, acknowledging Winokur's salutation with a nod, studied the two lands rats in their simple garb and unimposing attitude. One was well along in seasons, the other in his prime, and the Searat King might have guessed on his own from their likenesses that the two were related. "Who'd these be, then?" he asked, mindful to stay in character as Redclaw.

"This is Patreese, Latura's father," Winokur said, introducing the pair, "and this is Castor, her brother. As you can imagine, they were both quite distraught over her abduction from Redwall by the Gawtrybe, and continue to be distressed by her absence. I felt you should hear from them, before you make any decision on what's to be done about the matter." He stepped aside on the narrow walkway, allowing the two relatives to come forward and plead their case directly to the authority who held their loved one's fate in his paws far more than they realized.

"Please, Cap'n sir," the patriarch began, "I'm sure you been hearin' from folks here how special Lattie is, the way she knows things an' was able t' warn us what was t' come, so's we could all make it here t' Redwall an' save ourselves from gettin' swept up by those horrible squirrels. But t' me she's more'n just our savior - she's my daughter, an' fer all her special sight an' knowin', she's allers been weak in other ways, an' don't do too well on 'er own. I'm frightful worried what might become o' her out 'mongst yer kind, 'specially if she landed somewhere she'd only be seen as a slave, fer forced labor."

"Lattie ain't cut out fer that," Castor picked up from his father. "If she ends up with a cap'n not as open or understandin' as you seem t' be, we're afraid she'll come to a bad end, an' she deserves so much better'n that, after all th' rats she's helped."

"An' what would you have of me, on this score?" Tratton/Redclaw asked.

"She ain't done naught to you," Patreese implored, utterly unaware of just how far from the truth that was. "Her only crime's bein' a rat in Mossflower. So if you could have a word with your King about this, once you get back, an' mebbe see 'bout releasin' her an' returnin' her to us, we'd be more grateful than words could say."

"Hrm. Well, I c'n see, but I dunno how easy it'd be t' find 'er. Lotsa ships in th' Fleet, lotsa isles too, an' she coulda wound up on any one of 'em." Tratton figured that if he could be playing the part of Redclaw to fool most of the Abbeybeasts, he could just as easily feign ignorance over Latura's whereabouts, disguising the knowledge that she now almost certainly resided on Terramort itself, right where Jagtar had ordered Trangle to deliver her after dropping off the rest of the woodland rats at Talaga. "I c'n drop a word on this in King Tratton's ear, but it'd be up t' him whether he deems anything aught be done 'bout it. Take a lot, turnin' up one single ratmaid outta all the Empire, findin' her an' bringin' her back to Mossflower."

"It wouldn't have to be all the way back to Mossflower, or Redwall," Winokur quickly jumped in. "Once you find her, you'd only need to deliver her to Salamandastron, and Urthblood could make sure she finds her way back to us."

"Th' same badger who took such pains t' snatch 'er from you in th' first place? An' why would 'ee do _that_?"

"She passed through Salamandastron once already, with her life intact," Winokur countered. "Whatever Urthblood wanted from her, he had ample opportunity to take it, so I don't see why he would waylay her a second time. We could even send a party of our own from the Abbey to receive her and escort her back here, if we know to expect her, and thus free Urthblood from any responsibility in the matter at all. Of course - " and here the otter brushed nonchalantly at his whiskers, " - if you were to announce to all the lands from right here at Redwall that King Tratton no longer desires the rats of the lands, and is abolishing slavery within his realm, thereby leaving no cause for Urthblood to continue with his Purge, well, that would go a long way toward making her return easier … not to mention standing as a show of good faith to win any agreements His Majesty might seek with this Abbey."

"Ah, but I can't 'xactly speak fer 'is Majesty on alla this, can I?"

Winokur put on an air of surprise. "But surely King Tratton dispatched you to Mossflower to serve as his representative and do just that. Didn't he?"

Patreese laced his paws together and held them up before the searats in supplication. "Please, Cap'n sir, if yer King truly is thinkin' of gettin' rid of all 'is slaves, why wouldn't ya announce it now 'stead of waitin', an' save so much misery 'n' suff'rin' on all th' slaves he's got now, an' all that're still bein' rounded up by the Gawtrybe an' bein' sent 'is way? What'd be th' point of waitin', when doin' it sooner's better fer ev'rybeast?"

"Why indeed?" Winokur added with a knowing half-smile.

"Then I'd say I got plenny t' mull over fer myself, an' discuss with these Abbey leaders, don't I?"

Taking this as their cue to be dismissed, Patreese and Castor nodded their appreciation to Tratton/Redclaw. "Thank you fer hearin' us out, Cap'n sir," the rat father said. "An' please keep in mind all we said. Havin' Lattie back would mean a lot t' us - alla us - an' there'd be no better way t' gain favor 'mongst us rats of Mossflower than grantin' us this boon." He glanced forlornly down at the fairly pitiful encampment spread out on the Abbey grounds. "Uh, even if we ain't 'xactly in any position t' pay back that kindness in any meanin'ful way just at th' moment."

As the two village rats made their way back down the wallstairs to the Abbey lawns, Tratton turned to Winokur, who tarried behind with the two searats. "Does this prophetic maid truly mean so much to you?"

"She was our guest here at Redwall," the otter answered succinctly. "We'd extended her and her friends and family the sanctuary of our home, along with all the other rats they brought with them. When Latura was torn from us, through deceit and treachery, that was a dire violation of our hospitality and sovereignty. And I would think that you, knowing now how important she is to Urthblood, would relish her return to us if for no other reason than to frustrate him."

"Except that she's not that important to him anymore, apparently," Tratton reminded the Recorder. "He's had her at Salamandastron, right in his clutches, and had his chance to have his way with her, however he wished. Instead of slaying her, or sending her back to you himself, he cast her off, passed her along to us. This suggests to me that, upon examining her, he found her both disposable and no great threat to him. It's almost as if he regarded her as … inconsequential, in spite of her so-called abilities and danger he'd previously imagined she posed to him."

"Yes, that is strange, and something we're still trying to figure out ourselves," Winokur conceded, then added with a sly grin, "But then again, if she's really 'inconsequential,' then you'd have nothing to lose and much to gain by finding her and sending her back to us. Surely if the King of the Searats issues a proclamation to have a mere ratmaid found amongst his woodland captives and freed to be returned to the lands, it wouldn't be too hard for your captains to locate her, wherever in your Empire she might be."

"And if she no longer lives?"

"Then that would be gravely unfortunate, and leave us wondering how she met her end … and whether we would wish after all to forge relations with anybeasts who could not safeguard one ratmaid for part of a season."

"A pact between Redwall and Terramort was your idea, not mine," Tratton reminded Winokur. "I might be just as content to move on from Mossflower without signing any such agreement."

"The Abbess seems to think you'd not have journeyed all this way if you'd not had something like this in mind, and frankly, I tend to agree with her. She's not often wrong about such things."

"Ah yes. The Abbess. Who, I cannot help but notice, is not here now. And in our previous discussions on this matter, she left me with the distinct impression that she'd just as soon not have this ratmaid back at Redwall. So maybe she's not that important to you after all. Which is it?"

"Vanessa did explain to you how she felt Latura's wild talents would not fit in here at our Abbey home. But that hardly precludes you from freeing her as a gesture of good faith, and an undoing of Urthblood's transgression against us. Before she sought refuge with us, Latura and her family dwelt in peace in a tiny, isolated seaside village along the eastern shores, in the far reaches of Mossflower. I'm sure they would like nothing better than to return to their home and resume their prior lives they enjoyed before all of this disruption found them. Now, if you were to do as Patreese just implored - and as the Abbess and I have in fact implored of you ourselves - and openly declared the end of all slavery in your realm, then there will be no more need of Urthblood's Purge, no more need for our present refugees to shelter within our walls … and no reason why Latura could not return to her village, unmolested, to lead whatever life there she cared to, free from the threat of capture, displacement or harassment by any of Urthblood's forces."

"I shall have to consider this, once I return to Terramort, and gauge the state of affairs there, how things have gone in my absence."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, this might be just the kind of condition we'd like to write in any pact between us, before we attach our own signature to it."

Tratton's expression hardened. "I will decide what conditions I agree to. And it seems to me that until you bring your Abbot in on this, our discussions so far amount to nothing official that either side could be held to."

"The Abbess has made it clear," Winokur said stiffly, "that she will have no trouble convincing Geoff to go along with whatever is decided is in the best interest of Redwall."

"You mean whatever she decides. I do find it odd - and telling - how your supposed Abbey leader has been so pointedly excluded from all our talks so far. Is anybeast even appraising him of these matters? Are any of your defenders in on this? Or is it just you and the Abbess? You can surely understand my skepticism in this area."

"The Abbess was astute enough to be the first of us to divine your true identity, Your Majesty. And I can assure you, that is hardly the limit of her perceptions, or of her influence here at Redwall. We have both kept your secret, proving our trustworthiness in that regard. You are dealing with the beasts you want to be dealing with, believe me."

"Oh, I've had no doubt of that, not since my arrival - at least as far as the Abbess is concerned. And it is true she has kept my secret admirably. But I can't help feeling she has some secrets of her own that she's keeping from me."

Winokur smiled. "You'd need to ask her about that, Your Majesty."

"Perhaps I will. Although I hardly expect her to satisfy me with her answers."

Waiting until Winokur took his own leave of them and was well out of earshot, Talarek asked, "Might you consider any of this, Your Majesty? Freeing this ratmaid an' delivering her back to them, declaring an end to all slavery here, an' making formal peace with Redwall?"

"A pact with Redwall would not be without its benefits, for reasons the Abbess herself has stated. But these other conditions? No, I do not think so. They believe the end of slavery in my kingdom would necessarily entail the freeing of all the woodland rats I currently hold, and as you know, that is not the case at all. Our new allies must be kept fed, after all, in their vengeance if not their bellies. But even if that were not the case, why would I not want the Purge to continue? Has there ever been a better opportunity to set woodlander against woodlander? Redwall strains itself under the weight of the refugees it shelters, even as Urthblood strains relations with this Abbey through his arrogant and heavy-pawed territorial ambitions. It is truly the best of everything for us. All I have to do is ride this out on Terramort while Redwall and Urthblood batter away at each other, weakening the strength of all land creatures. End the Purge? That's the last thing we want!"

"Except, we can't let _them_ know that."

"Of course not. It will be a tricky line to tread, if we do sign any agreement, committing to an end to slavery without any guarantee of releasing the land rats we've already taken. Perhaps I will release this prophet maid of theirs, once I've met with her and had the chance to take her measure myself. Such a show of good faith might cost me little, and gain me much. And, as the otter just pointed out, if it truly does go against Urthblood's wishes and frustrate him in any way, all the more reason to consider it."

Talarek gazed over and past the roofpeaks of the main Abbey building toward the soaring tower of Foxguard, now bisecting the silvery twilit sky. "And what of that place, Your Majesty?"

"Oh, I expect I'll journey there once I'm done with negotiations here. In fact … I think a change of travel plans may be in order, Talarek. We know Mossflower is a land divided these days - Redwall against Urthblood, woodlander against woodlander - but have we yet grasped the full extend of that rift? Perhaps, while I string the Abbess and her otter lackey along with hints I might proclaim the release of my woodland rats or encourage an end to the Purge, we should journey to this Foxguard place to take the full measure of the beasts there. One additional perspective cannot hurt us in these negotiations with Redwall, and who knows? We might stumble upon something surprising and unexpected to our benefit."

"Or not to our benefit, Your Majesty. It is an Urthblood place, after all, and full of his fighters - fox fighters, who remain far more of a mystery to us than these Gawtrybe who escort us through the lands."

"All the more reason to investigate, then. When else will we have the opportunity to study so unique a fortress? And if some secret resides there which we might exploit with the Redwallers, it behooves us to explore the possibility."

Talarek was silent for a few moments, contemplating all the refugees encamped on the enclosed grounds below. "I still don't get it, tho'. Why would these folk care so much about rats, of all creatures?"

"They're Abbeybeasts, Talarek. Their hearts are soft. And in this never-ending game between me and Urthblood, that's a good thing to know."

 **FOXGUARD**

"'ey, 'tenant! Our Sword wants t' see you, up on th' third floor."

Bryn turned to the weasel approaching him along the low walltop. Full night had fallen over Foxguard, and the ferret officer had finished deploying his former hordebeasts at strategic points all throughout the fortress grounds as instructed. Now, if Tolar's swordfoxes tried to start trouble in retribution for their chief's death, he was poised to help Jaffox put down any such uprising. And with the Northland foxes and the Gawtrybe on his side as well, even those expert bladesbeasts would think twice about challenging Foxguard's new order.

Bryn looked to the weasel. "Jaffox wants t' see me? Inside?"

"Up in th' Sword's offices. Third level."

"Hmm. Did 'ee say what 'ee wants?"

"Stratergy meetin', I'm assumin'. Sergeant Collijack's already there. They're waitin' on ye."

"Yeah, I was won'drin' where that treejumper had got to. Better not keep 'em waitin', then." Bryn fell into step behind the weasel as they made their way toward the wall stairs. "So, any word on who that was who fell from th' tower?" He shivered at the memory of that flailing, billowing figure plummeting against the evening sky, and the bloodcurdling shriek which had accompanied the stomach-dropping sight.

"They're sayin' t'was Mona. Poor Mona. May've jumped in 'er grief over Tolar."

"She musta been … quite attached to 'er Sword," Bryn commented, not sure whether to believe the healer vixen had truly jumped of her own accord, or if it was a further part of this day's shadowy and nefarious dealings. Either way, with both Tolar and Mona out of the way now, Bryn had little doubt Jaffox would quickly consolidate his power over Foxguard and put it in a grip any opponent would find hard to shake off.

As they reached the lawns, Bryn noticed another weasel leading Joska's sisters Iskra and Imara through the tunnel entryway and across the lawns, and he cracked a knowing smile. "I see th' vixens 're bein' allowed back in too."

"Jus' those two, fer now. Word is our top vixen's holdin' a stratergy meetin' of 'er own."

"Yah. I'll leave those vixens to their own ways, an' stick with more honest an' open fighter's business."

Closer to the fortress, Jaffox's lieutenant Redrovan intercepted them. "'ey, ferret, what's goin' on 'ere?"

Bryn bristled at being accosted and addressed in such a manner. "That's _Lieutenant_ t' you. An' I'm on my way t' see Jaffox, who's expectin' me, so if you don't want 'im bein' mad at both of us, best not delay me further."

"Jaffox? 'ee sent fer you?"

"He did. Why so surprised?"

"'cos some o' us saw 'im bein' borne down to the cellars, lookin' like 'ee'd fallen deathly ill. But those swordfoxes wouldn't let us follow, then when they did finally let us go down, Jaffox was nowhere t' be seen."

"Then either you were wrong 'bout seein' him taken down there, or else 'ee got back up by you without you seein'." Bryn looked to the weasel. "You know anything 'bout any o' this?"

The weasel shrugged. "Guess whatever t'was, ain't ailin' him no more?"

"I'm goin' with you!" Redrovan declared. "Wanna make sure our chief's in sorts an' alright."

The weasel looked dubious. "Sword only sent fer 'tenant Bryn."

"I served with Jaffox fer seasons. He'll not mind me comin' along. If 'ee don't want me there, he c'n tell me 'is own self."

The weasel shrugged again. "Suit yerself."

But when the three of them stepped off the stairs onto the third floor and started along the curved corridor toward Tolar's old quarters, they found their way blocked by a pair of swordfoxes. Questioning the presence of the black-clad bladesbeasts up here where presumably Jaffox was asserting his newfound authority, Redrovan snapped, "What're _you_ doin' here? What's goin' on? I wanna see Jaffox."

"You're not permitted beyond this point," one of the swordfoxes replied with cool professionalism, then gestured toward Bryn. "Only him, for now."

"Uh, this's where I leave ya," the weasel said, ducking his head and retreating down the hall. Redrovan was not so quick to join him.

"Is Jaffox up 'ere, or ain't 'ee?" the Northland fox demanded. "If 'ee is, I wanna see 'im."

The two swordsbeasts put their paws to their hilts. "Only the Lieutenant gets through, for now. Sword's orders."

"Sword's … " Redrovan's eyes widened, and after staring at the two swordfoxes for some moments, he turned and strode back the way he'd come, to seek out his fellow Northlanders and voice his terrible suspicions to them.

Bryn, not yet sure himself what was going on or why Redrovan had departed in such a manner, passed by the two sentries as bidden and proceeded on toward the Sword's chambers, where another pair of brigade foxes ushered him within.

Just past the threshold, Bryn froze at the sight which greeted him. The Sword occupying the clear seat of authority, the fox now calmly and assuredly meeting his gaze, was not Jaffox at all, but the only Sword Bryn had known since his arrival at Foxguard. The only other creature in the room was Sergeant Collijack, seated sideway in his chair to regard the ferret and looking none too pleased with the situation himself.

"Uh, um, Sword," Bryn stammered at this wholly unanticipated twist. "I'd heard … er, ev'rybeast said you was … "

Tolar gave a grim smile. "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, it would seem. Have a seat, Lieutenant."

Wordlessly, the ferret stepped forward and took the chair alongside Collijack's. The Gawtrybe squirrel swung himself back around to fully face Tolar as well.

"I've already been over much of this with the Sergeant, so I'll keep this succinct and to the point," Tolar began. "Tonight, there was treachery at Foxguard. Jaffox and Joska tried to assassinate me, and Mona. Fortunately, precautions were taken which allowed us both to survive these criminal attempts, and the guilty have been or are being appropriately punished. Joksa perished when she fell from the tower summit in her bid to eliminate Mona that way, and Jaffox has been summarily executed. Sergeant Collijack has already issued orders for his Gawtrybe to stand alert and at the ready to act against any further signs of insurrection on the part of the Northland foxes - who are not being allowed to leave Foxguard until I am finished with them as well - and Joska's sisters have been detained on suspicion of complicity. Which brings me to you, Lieutenant. You'll no longer be taking any orders from Jaffox, obviously. I am Foxguard's one and only Sword now, and you serve under me. So what I need to know is, will you swear to me the same level of loyalty you swore to Jaffox, and vow never to act against Foxguard or its true and proper Sword? And if your answer is anything other than an honest and genuine yes, you will be executed by my own blade before you can leave this chamber."

Bryn wiped suddenly sweaty palms on his thigh fur. "Lissen, Sword, I had no part in any o' what went on t'night - that was all Jaffox an' 'is vixens. I ain't no schemer or plotter - that ain't how my mind works. Much happier jus' followin' orders, like I did under Krayne 'n' Harth. An' Jaffox allers told me I was swearin' my loyalty to Lord Urthblood, not him, so I don't much care whether my orders're comin' from him or from you. So yeah, I'll pledge you my loyalty an' trust, an' promise never t' raise a paw 'gainst you or any o' yer foxes in black. An' I'll make sure all my fighters know it too."

"And if any of Jaffox's brigade should cause further unrest here at Foxguard - can I count on you to stand with us against them? Even if it comes to bloodshed?"

"Ain't like I never spilled blood before. Former hordebeast, 'member? Not sure why you'd still even want 'em around, but yeah, if they push it to a fight, we'll be there t' help you put it down."

"Splendid. Then I think we understand each other perfectly. Now, one more thing: can you tell me whether Jaffox did indeed have Sappakit murdered, or may even have done the deed himself, with his own paws?"

"He never said, one way or the other, an' I never pushed it. Y' don't push things like that with somebeast like Jaffox."

"Hm. I suppose I will have to accept that. Perhaps I can get some verification on the matter from the members of his squad, or Joska's sisters. It would be a comfort to have my suspicions laid to rest, one way or the other. And Sappakit deserves at least that much. That will be all for now. You are dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Um, ought I t' tell my fighters that ye're … well, still alive?"

"All my brigade knows. All my weasels know. And now all the Gawtrybe know as well, so there's no point in having you keep it from your own troops. If Jaffox's ruffians find out now, it's not like they'll be able to do anything about it."

"Uh, right, then. Sir." Bryn rose, gave a salute and turned, marching out of the room between the two swordfox sentries stationed there.

"You trust him not to betray you?" Collijack asked Tolar.

"He's got no reason to, and everything to gain by falling into line. I believed him when he said he had no part in any pf the treachery going on here; that's the kind of thing Jaffox would keep within his own squad. Bryn might have been reluctant to choose sides when Jaffox and I were at each other's throats, but he sees now that there's only one side left, with the Northland foxes left on the outside. He'll give me no trouble." Tolar's intent gaze met the squirrel's. "Will you?"

"You are Foxguard's Sword. You acted as you had to, I suppose. But there are some undeniable … irregularities about the situation. One might accuse you of entrapping Jaffox."

"One might - and I don't care. Nobeast forced Jaffox or Joska to put the poison in our food. We only gave them the opportunity to prove themselves murderers; the blood was still all on their own paws."

"Yet it was their blood that ended up being shed - and you hint that more may be spilled before this is all over."

"Treachery has wormed its way into Foxguard. We must be prepared to root it out - however deep those roots go."

"Anything to do with foxes is your affair - along with your weasel staff, and now that of Bryn's too, unless Captain Custis decides they're needed elsewhere for the resettlement sweeps and takes them off your paws for you." Collijack paused. " He'll need to be appraised of what went on here, you know."

"Then appraise him. I have nothing to apologize for, and nothing to hide."

"If that's true, why are you refusing to let me see Jaffox's body?"

"I took care of that situation as I saw fit. The Gawtrybe need not concern themselves with internal matters of Foxguard discipline."

"And yet you ask our help to keep order here, should those other Northland foxes seek to cause you further trouble."

"This is a stronghold of Lord Urthblood's. Maintaining order here is in the interests of everybeast who serves him."

"And since you've brought him up, Sword, Lord Urthblood will need to be informed of these events as well."

"That might prove difficult at this time, with all the birds recalled for duty in Southsward."

"We have the signalling mirror. That would be faster anyway."

"That only flashes messages to Salamandastron. Our Lord dwells far from there these days, and occupies his mind with matters concerning entire kingdoms and grand alliances. I'm sure squabbles amongst his foxes would not rank high on his list of priorities."

Collijack regarded Tolar. "If you get away with this, Sword, it will only be because it was Jaffox. If you'd tried this with anybeast less … odious … you might have faced more severe repercussions than any you'll face now."

"Anybeast less odious would not have tried to murder Foxguard's one true Sword. And that is something I will not let anybeast forget anytime soon. Now, don't you have some messages to send, Sergeant?"

Catching the unmistakable tones of dismissal in the fox's statement, Collijack stood and turned with a parting nod, striding from the chamber to see to his Gawtrybe, leaving Tolar sitting along with one paw idly drumming the tabletop as he stared at nothing, thinking of a great many things.


	71. Chapter LXX

**LXX.**

 **TALAGA**

"I still have misgivings about this, Spymaster."

"And why would that be, Torabi? Have the cormorants not been brought fully into the fold? Are they not eager in their enthusiasm toward the training which will someday allow them to defeat their gull nemeses? Do they not satisfy their bloodlust with all the slaves and prisoners we've been giving them?"

Uroza and Torabi stood atop the very same promontory where the Searat King had first brokered his alliance with the cormorant chieftain Grabbrack. A score of heavily-armed guards stood with them, but no other ranking rats of authority on Talaga; Regelline, even had she not been a new mother, possessed no interest in directly associating with the savage birds, while Governor Voccola also showed no desire to expose himself to Tratton's barbaric new allies … all of which suited Uroza's purposes perfectly. He'd thus far kept the slave rebellion a secret during his meetings with the Queen and Governor, and preferred to keep it that way. Given what was to be discussed here, the Spymaster was just as happy for their absence.

"They are still wild and unpredictable, sir, and violent, even when dealing with them on a daily basis. It can be hard to foresee how they will react in any untested situation. And there is only one of you, Spymaster. If anything should happen to you, that would be an irreplaceable loss to the Empire, should things go badly here."

"Can't you control them better than that, Torabi? You've had plenty of time to learn how."

"Some forces of nature are not so easily controlled, Spymaster. And these cormorants are a whirlwind I fear we may never fully master."

"And yet His Majesty treated with them, right at this very spot, and look at what he won. So they cannot be totally unreasonable."

"Look at what His Majesty had to give up to win even this loosest of alliances. Look at what he had to promise." Torabi glanced around them. "And I think we brought somewhat more in the way of protection with us for those initial negotiations."

"This is a crisis," Uroza bit off. "These birds are needed now, sooner than expected and for reasons unforeseen. The rebel ships, armed as we now know them to be, must be located and destroyed, before they claim further vessels of the Fleet. They've already inflicted losses upon us I would only have thought Urthblood himself capable of."

"Do you suppose that badger may in truth be behind all this, somehow?" Torabi asked, and not for the first time.

"Such would not surprise me, although how he managed it I can only speculate. We know this rebellion started on the _Redfoam_ , which had just come from Salamandastron, placing that galleon squarely in that badger's sphere of influence. Who knows what eldritch persuasions or clandestine contingencies he worked upon her while she and her crew were docked at the mountain? Who can say just what manner of rats numbered among the slaves he pressed upon Trangle?"

"We may only discover that if we can capture some of the rebels alive for interrogation," Torabi speculated.

"Which means we may never know at all. These rebels seem inclined to take impossible chances, which may well mean they will fight to the death, and to their total destruction - and thus would Urthblood's paw in these events remain forever hidden."

"Who would have guessed we might ever face such an enemy?"

"Tratton knew. Which is why he made sure to have us."

It was almost evening on Talaga, with the cormorants' training drills - and other pursuits - done for the day. Uroza had not wanted to wait until morning to confer with Grabbrack, thus briefing Torabi and instructing her to arrange this meeting on the same day as his arrival at the isle.

Seeing this larger-than-usual gathering of armed and uniformed rats clustered atop the ridge where Torabi regularly convened with the aggressive seabirds, Grabbrack himself circled down to land before them, the arrogant outward puffing of his breast showing who he held as superior here. "What now?" he demanded. "Day done, work done, not take orders again until tomorrow."

Torabi gestured to her superior. "This is Spymaster Uroza."

Grabbrack regarded the dark rodent. "Important rat?"

"Very," she replied. "Second only to the King and Queen themselves."

The cormorant assessed Uroza with a new level of appraisal, and the Spymaster couldn't for the life of him tell whether it was a show of respect or if the bird was sizing him up for its next meal.

"I have your first mission for your birds, Chieftain," Uroza opened.

"First mission?" Grabbrack cocked his head. "Still training, still learning new war ways."

"Torabi tells me you've made encouraging progress in this area. And this will not be an especially challenging mission."

"Kill gulls?"

"Not yet. Not for this assignment. But you will get to help kill many more rats."

"Already kill plenny rats." Grabbrack sounded distinctly disinterested in having to seek out what was already being served up to him daily.

"Chieftain, what would you do if some of your birds challenged you for leadership of your flock?"

Grabbrack gave an unruly ruffle. "They would die, die, creeaack!"

"Precisely. We have rats who have turned against us, who need to be punished." Uroza paused. "Rats who are friends of gulls." He allowed this lie to sink in and have its intended effect. "Can you help us punish them?"

This play on the cormorant leader's vanity and hatreds worked perfectly. "Gullfriends die, die dead, creeaawk!"

Uroza winced slightly at the bird's earsplitting enthusiasm, but otherwise remained outwardly stoic. "Before we can punish them, we must find them. That will be your birds' mission, Chieftain."

Grabbrack looked positively crestfallen. "Only to find? Not to kill?"

Uroza let slip the hint of a smile. "Once we find them, you may kill as many as you can manage."

This seemed to satisfy the newly-minted avian warlord. "When we start?"

"We seek three ships. They will be travelling together in a single convoy. Meet me at first light tomorrow down at the harbor with your chosen scouts, and I will show them exactly what to look for. Then they can be sent out at once."

"Why can't just tell? Three ships, sounds simple."

"It will be better if your scouts can see them, so they can better remember the ship types. There can be no mistake, and finding these traitors quickly is crucial. Two of the rebel craft are of configurations we currently have docked at our pier, so this will clearly show your birds what they seek."

"Either ship steel?" Grabbrack asked suspiciously.

It took Uroza a moment to figure out what the cormorant was asking, then he shook his head. "No, none of the rebel ships are ironclads."

"Good. Would be hard to kill rats inside steel ships. So, what are three?"

"One is a galleon, similar to the frigate we have laying at harbor but smaller, with just a single catapult rather than two. Standard sailing vessel. Another is a fleetrunner, those small, fast messenger boats which hold only a few rats."

"And third?"

"The third is unlike any other ship on the sea, and it is by that craft that you will know them. I will give your scouts a detailed description tomorrow morning before sending them out."

Grabbrack seemed about to protest, then acquiesced. "Tomorrow then."

"For tonight, choose your scouts, Chieftain, and choose them well. I can tell you where the traitor ships were last seen, but not where they are now, so your birds may need to fly far to locate our target. Keep this in mind when picking your scouts. Then, once the traitors have been pinpointed, you can muster your entire battle flock and together we will go out to meet them."

"And then blood?"

"Yes. Much blood. As much as you can draw with beak and claw."

Grabbrack clacked his bill in anticipation. "Much ratblood. Will be good good day."

00000000000

Unbeknownst to either Uroza or Grabbrack, that very afternoon some of western Talaga's cormorant flock had ranged out well to the north of the isle in their search for fish to fill their bellies and take back to their young. And there, below the horizon line and out beyond the sight of even the highest point on Talaga, those foraging birds spotted the very three ships Uroza sought, although none knew it at the time. They may have questioned the odd positioning of this tiny armada, now bolstered by their fourth seized vessel, lying at anchor too far from the island to gain any advantage from this distant proximity. And they may have questioned the exceedingly bizarre configuration of the former trader vessel, with its giant wheel mounted directly in the middle of the top deck and overhanging the port and starboard sides. But in the end, they were just more searat ships, more of the many that came and went at Talaga. And since these ships stood well offshore and posed no threat to the cormorants' home nesting grounds - or the cormorants themselves who flew low and close enough to investigate - the birds ultimately dismissed their discovery as inconsequential, and while a few might have shared this news with their nestmates upon their return, nothing more came of it.

At least not until Grabbrack flew back from his evening meeting with Uroza and put out the call for scouts to hunt three rebel searat ships.

 **THE** _ **REDFOAM**_

"Timing's gonna be ev'rything," Cordato told his fellow captains, "an' we gotta do it this night, 'fore we're spotted so close to Talaga."

Nobeast there disagreed; even if the Searat Empire hadn't yet figured out it was locked in a civil war, or identified the _Redfoam_ as the flagship of the rebel fleet, their presence in these waters would raise far too many awkward and inconvenient questions, should they be discovered here. All it would take would be a single fleetrunner dispatched from Talaga to investigate reports of unusual activity here, or one warship or supply vessel happening this way by chance, to close their window for a surprise attack. The time had come to strike, or to pull up anchor and flee Talaga altogether.

And the rebels had no intention of fleeing.

By raiding the _Redfoam_ 's map room, Cordato had turned up a fairly detailed map of Talaga, which he and Tropsa, Ramjohn, Gramaton, Potdar and Latura all now gathered around in Trangle's old cabin. Two other rats, Rostand and Scarnaty, had been invited in for this conference, due to their own time serving on the isle before ending up in chains aboard the galleon. Cordato turned to them now. "Look it over, real close, an' tell me if this all looks true to you."

Scrutinizing and studying the map, the two island-experienced rats nodded. "Layout of th' harbor, docks, village an' fort's all as I 'member 'em," said Rostand.

Cordato nodded. "I been on Talaga a couple times m'self, but never was stationed there, so I don't know it as well as you two. But I grant it looks accurate 'gainst my mem'ry." He addressed Scarnaty directly. "You were actshully a dungeon guard at Fort Ballaster fer a spell, Scars, so ye're th' one we're countin' on the most here. You sure there's secret ways inta that bastion?"

"There was when I was there, Cap'n, so I c'n only assume there still are. Might not be th' prettiest or sweetest o' tunnels you'd care t' crawl through, but they'll serve."

"Then ye'll be headin' up that assault team. How many rats y' figger ye'll need with ye?"

"Hard t' say. Accordin' t' Lattie, Tratton's keepin' lots o' Urthblood's land fighters down there, which means th' guards on 'em coulda been doubled or tripled over what they were when I served there. Or other safeguards coulda been installed - heavier bars 'n' doors, trickier locks … "

"Then make sure t' take at least one good lockpicker with you, in case you can't find the keys to th' cells right away. That's where some o' yer land crew might come in, Potdar, since ye're allers crowin' 'bout their thievin' skills. In fact, most o' that team should be woodland rats if we c'n find enuff with fightin' experience, since we'll need a fully nautical team t' go after that ironclad while you lot're busy inside Fort Ballaster. But those fighters of Urthblood's gotta be our top priority there; once we get enuff of 'em freed an' armed, we can let 'em deal with the fort guards while you lot work on findin' the powder stores an' seein' what you can do with it."

Scarnaty made a face of distaste. "I gotta be stuck with all th' landlubbers?"

Cordato shrugged. "Sorry, matey. Just th' way it shakes out this time. But we'll try not t' saddle you with too much dead weight."

"We'll do our part," Potdar swore. "You just arm an' show us where t' go, an' we'll pull our weight in this, you wait an' see."

Cordato examined the island map once more. "Pity there ain't any schematticks of Ballaster to be found aboard, but I guess it makes sense, Tratton not wantin' his cap'ns an' crews knowin' the layout of the fort securin' one of his most important isles. Biggest trick fer us will be coordinatin' all this. _Redfoam_ 's too big to be brought inta Talaga without attractin' more attention than we can afford, even at night. An' as fer our shipkiller - "

" _Goodwill_ ," Ramjohn cut in. "She's the _Goodwill_."

"Whatever. We can't let her be seen from anywhere on Talaga, because one look at that craft'll set tongues waggin' an' rats all over the island clamorin' t' see 'er fer themselves. Naw, this'll all hafta be done with our fleetrunner … which means - " His paw moved across the parchment from Ballaster to Talaga Harbor, " - we gotta hit two targets with a single boat. That means a staggered attack - landin' one party first, an' then makin' sure they don't get too far ahead o' th' game that they compromise th' second half of the operation. Like, if the alarm goes out that there's trouble at Ballaster 'fore we c'n grab that ironclad, an' the crew of that steel ship an' any warships that're guardin' her all scramble to defensive positions 'fore we've even pulled inta the bay … "

"What about th' _Mainstaker_?" Tropsa proposed. "She's just a reg'lar cargo vessel, so she'd not raise any eyebrows. 'Sides, she was on a course fer Talaga when we took 'er, so that means she'll be expected. We could pull 'er right up to th' dock with our fighters lying in wait aboard her with norat bein' th' wiser, 'til we jump out an' take 'em by surprise."

"Jump out? That cargo tub's a big ship, an' would stand well above the pier. You'd hafta get all kinds o' moorin' an' gangways in place 'fore you could even get down onto the dock from her. Won't be any surprisin' anyrat under circumstances like that, not with an entire harbor crew turned out to get you tied up an' ready to disembark. 'Sides, it'd also look fishy, comin' in to dock at night."

Tropsa took minor exception to this last part. "I'm sure lotsa ships get to Talaga at night an' dock up there. What, you think ev'ry ship that approached after dark an' 'fore sunrise drops anchor t' wait 'til day breaks?"

"Actshully, that's 'xactly what most of 'em did," said Scarnaty.

"Aye," Rostand confirmed, "lotsa cap'ns ain't overly familiar with Talaga an' need daylight t' see their way past th' reefs an' inta th' bay fer dockin'."

"An' like you said," Cordato went on, "th' _Mainstaker_ 's expected here - which might mean some o' Uroza's spies might be on paw t' receive 'er cap'n, or mebbe th' head o' the Harbor Guard. 'Member, her hold was full o' slaves, so there'd be guards mustered t' take 'em inta custody. Whaddya think their reaction would be when a bunch o' rebels strolls down th' gangplank 'stead of th' cap'n an' crew they're expectin'?"

Tropsa snorted. "Still think we could take 'em out in an unexpected ambush. Mebbe have our fighters pick 'em off with crossbows from on deck 'fore we even leave th' _Mainstaker_."

"That might work if there's just a few of 'em, tho' even that might be a tall order, gettin' off such clean shots in th' dark. But what if there's sev'ral dozen, most armed an' at the alert, with mebbe even more lookin' on from other ships, or th' head of the pier, or even from the ironclad 'erself? An' another thing: what'll you do with th' _Mainstaker_ once it's all over, even if y' did pull it off against all odds? Just abandon 'er?"

Tropsa gave an enthusiastic nod. "Sure I would. Trade that leaky old cargo bucket fer an ironclad? I'd call that a fair trade an' a half!"

"Lattie said we might still need th' _Mainstaker_. So we can't abandon 'er."

"Unless this assault's th' very thing we'll need 'er for." Tropsa turned to Latura. "What sez you on this, Lattie? Do we use th' _Mainstaker_ t' grab th' ironclad, or don't we?"

Latura shook her head. "Gotta use liddleboats t' sneak in both places. Won't work otherwise."

Tropsa sat back in his chair, deflated, while Cordato gave a smug grin. "Guess that settles that, don't it? We stick to our original plan, usin' th' fleetrunner to bring in both assault teams - an' since they wouldn't all fit in that spyship, an' since we can't have Tropsa making two sep'rate runs back an' forth 'tween here an' Talaga, we'll have Rostand and Scarnaty's team pile inta the spare rowboat we found on th' _Mainstaker_ , an' Tropsa can tow 'em inta position. That way they can assail Fort Ballaster while Tropsa goes for the ironclad. We don't have th' time to pull this off any other way."

Gramaton nodded. "Good thing we we found that extra lifeboat on my cargo hauler, after blowing the _Redfoam_ 's only dinghy when we sank that dreadnaught."

Latura nodded in agreement. "Liddleslowboat fer castle, liddlefastboat fer iron ship."

Cordato looked to Scarnaty. "Think you can get done what you need t' get done at Ballaster with a dozen rats or less?"

"Depends on what we find when we get there, don't it? All I know is we'd never be able t' row all th' way from here t' Talaga on our own - t'would likely take 'til after sunrise t' get there, an' leave us too tired t' pick a lock, much less fight armed guards."

"That's why we'll be tyin' you up t' my fleetrunner an' towin' you t' just offshore," said Tropsa. "We got sails an' rowers both, so we'll be able t' cover th' distance in good time. Just hope it doesn't leave my own oarsrats too tired fer when we move on th' ironclad."

"What're y' plannin' t' do with yer fleetrunner, if ye're successful in capturin' the ironclad?" Cordato asked Tropsa. "Prob'ly won't be enuff o' you to staff both those vessels at once - hellgates, do any of us even know how t' sail an ironclad?"

"We'll figger that out once we're down inside 'er, you leave that to us," Tropsa vowed. "We know they don't use sails so we'll be able t' run it all from th' inside, with th' hatch sealed shut an' th' steel hull protectin' us. Dunno if it has a rowin' galley of its own, or if it's got some kinda crank inside like I heard stories 'bout, but we'll make sure t' bring along enuff rats to fully crew 'er, however she runs. An' as fer leavin' th' fleetrunner behind, well, she's been a fine an' useful liddle craft, but like I just said about th' _Mainstaker_ , tradin' her fer an ironclad's a trade I'll take!"

"Right. I'll hold you to that then." Cordato turned to Scarnaty. "An' what about yer team, Scars? Once ye're done at Ballaster - assumin' any o' you make it outta that place with yer necks - what'll you do then? Won't be able t' row back out t' us here on yer own, an' Tropsa might not be able t' rendezvous with you again. We don't even know if an ironclad's able t' tow any other craft."

Scarnaty shrugged. "Wasn't th' whole point of all this to create a diversion an' do 'em enuff damage t' keep 'em tied up while we landed farther west t' replenish our stocks of food 'n' drink? Soon as we're done there, assumin' we've stirred up enuff of a ruckus t' do us any good, we'll strike out to th' west ourselves, either in the dinghy or overland, an' lay low along th' north shore 'til we see th' _Redfoam_ pullin' in t' take on supplies. By that time we should know whether Tropsa's succeeded in seizin' the ironclad, an' whether things're goin' our way or not."

"What about the Queen?" asked Ramjohn. "Weren't we talking at one point 'bout trying to seize her too, or kill 'er?"

" _You_ were," Cordato acknowledged, "but it'd be too hard t' pull off. Ev'rything else we're plannin' here, we got an 'in' fer it: secret way inta Ballaster, lockpicks t' try 'n' free Urthblood's troops from their cells, an' sneakin' inta the harbor to try'n capture that ironclad, an' mebbe blow any ships protectin' it as a mighty diversion an' also to thin their ranks. Th' Queen'll be too far inland, an' too heavily guarded, fer us t' have any hope o' reachin' her. We'll hafta be lucky beyond luck just t' pull off all we're plannin' now."

"What about the fighters of Urthblood's we're hoping to free?" the mouse pressed. "Couldn't we use some of them t' go after the Queen?"

Cordato remained dubious. "First, we only got Lattie's word that they're even there, but even takin' that at face value as I'm inclined t' do, that's not tellin' us how many there are, what kinda fightin' shape they're in, an' how willin' they'll be t' join in an insurrection against their jailers. An' even if all that falls inta place in our favor, their first an' most immediate concern's gonna be goin' up against Ballaster's own troops, an' that might be all they c'n do t' win right there in that fort."

"Unless we can lead 'em all out th' same way we get in, without raisin' a wider alarm," suggested Scarnaty. "Then we'd be able t' redeploy 'em as we want - includin' goin' after th' Queen."

Tropsa added, "We could also have Scars wait t' move on the dungeons 'til we blow any warships we gotta blow. That might draw a lot o' Ballaster's troops down to th' harborside t' see what happened, an' help out with that calamity. Fur, we might not even hafta set off Ballaster's powder stocks like we planned; mebbe we'll be able to take it an' hold it fer ourselves!"

Cordato shook his head. "Naw, we don't wanna do that. We're not here t' try'n capture all of Talaga, or even a part of it. This has all gotta be a hit-and-run operation - get in an' outta Ballaster, causing' what damage there we can, get in an' outta the harbor to grab that ironclad an' blow its protectin' ships if we can manage it, then while our enemy's too hurt an' confused to muster a counterattack, we move our attention westward t' get what provisions we need t' last us sev'ral seasons at sea. Then we leave, an' as far from this place as we can, fast as we can."

"Why should we run, if Tropsa's right and we can take command of Ballaster?" Ramjohn questioned. "We'd have control of their primary military stronghold, their dock would lie in ruins along with any warships an' their crews who could best challenge us, we'd have the ironclad to add to our fleet … why _not_ take Talaga?"

Cordato levelled a hard gaze at the mouse. "I'll tell ya why. 'Cos even if we _do_ capture an' hold Ballaster, an' even if we _do_ blow ev'ry ship at anchor an' destroy the pier an' take that ironclad fer ourselves, an' even if we _do_ somehow figger out a way t' keep us all watered an' fed while we're doin' all this - th' main reason we came to Talaga, 'member? - no matter how well it all goes fer us now, sooner or later Tratton'll learn what happened here, an' then he'll sail here, an' he'll bring his entire Fleet with 'im - "

"What's left of it," Ramjohn interjected with a satisfied smirk.

"He'll bring his whole Fleet with 'im," Cordato continued, "an' they'll reduce Ballaster t' rubble if that's what they hafta do to get at us. Talaga's the Empire's main food source, an' home to its captains' an' officers' families - "

"Who we could hold hostage 'gainst him," Ramjohn again interrupted.

Cordato scowled. "He wouldn't care. He'd hafta take Talaga back at any cost, if he wanted to survive as King. Even if it meant mountin' th' greatest battle he ever fought. He'd have no other choice."

Ramjohn's mouth set in a grim, determined line. "So let him come. We'll have the _Goodwill_. We'll have the ironclad. Let him come, and Lattie can point us to which ship he's on, and we can smash our way through his lines and sink it, and put an end to this once and for all. This ain't the Doldrums anymore, when calm winds and still waters would tie our paws. Ram her, harpoon her - whatever we have to do to put Tratton on the seabed, we'll do it."

"Unless his flagship's an ironclad 'erself," Cordato countered. "In which case, rammin' an' harpoonin' might do no more'n scratch 'er."

"Then we take out all his ships around him. Make Tratton watch helpless while we destroy th' rest of his Navy right 'fore his eyes."

"Well, y' ain't lackin' in conferdence, I'll grant you that, if you think we could do all that with just one ironclad an' our skipkiller - "

" _Goodwill_ ," Ramjohn corrected. "She's called the _Goodwill_. An' it wouldn't just be the two of us goin' up against 'em; there'd be the _Redfoam_ too. She's got a catapult of her own, in case you'd forgot."

Cordato gave a harsh and mirthless laugh. "One catapult? Goin' up against frigates with two each an' dreadnaughts with four each? We do that, an' the _Redfoam_ would be th' first of us t' go down, prob'ly without takin' a single one o' his ships with us." He looked to his fellow rats. "What say any o' you to this madness? Do we try'n occupy Talaga if we can, an' face down Tratton in a sea battle when he brings his Fleet here?"

Tropsa didn't need much time to think it over. "Nay, when y' put it like that, th' full folly o' such a plan comes out. We'd never win such a battle, or even get close t' bringin' Tratton down, I s'pect."

"An' my ship's just an unarmed cargo hauler," Gramaton hastened to add. "I'd have no place in any such battle."

Now it was Ramjohn's turn to look into all the faces of those gathered around the table. "Since when did this become about winning? Since when did this become about any of us gettin' outta this alive? 'Cos we ain't, y' know. Not as long as Tratton's alive. Even if we make it away from Talaga with massive damage done to our enemy here an' our hold full of all th' food and drink we could ask for, that day of reckoning'll still come, be it here or somewhere else. I fully intend t' keep on hunting Tratton's ships while there's still breath left in my body, but even if I didn't, Tratton would still be hunting us to the ends of the earth. So why not make this our final stand, with all the targets we could ever want all lined up an' gathered together in one place for us?"

"Fer precisely that very reason," Cordato shot back. "Huntin' Tratton's ships one or two at a time like we been doin's one thing, but taking 'em all on at once would be a sure doom, an' no guarantee we'd be able t' sink as many as we could otherwise. 'Sides which, in case ye'd fergot, you only got five more o' yer giant arrows left. Even if ye're lucky an' take out one ship with each shot, what happens if ten or fifteen or a full score show up t' face us?"

"Then we go after his biggest ships first. I'll target any dreadnaught that Tratton brings to the battle. If I can sink 'em, then I'll go after the frigates, an' while I'm doin' all that, we can use the ironclad to ram the galleons and any smaller warships in our sights. Tratton did that with one of his dreadnaughts during the battle at Salamandastron, in case you hadn't heard, t' keep Urthblood from getting his claws on it. If that tactic worked on a dreadnaught, then galleons should go down before us left an' right, with naught they'll be able t' do about it." Ramjohn paused for breath, so excitedly had he been describing the scenario blossoming in his head. "We can do this. We can do it."

"An' I sez we can't," growled Cordato. "An' since I'm Cap'n of this liddle fleet of ours, my say's final. We take what we can from Talaga, then leave. An' that's that."

Ramjohn held his silence for some moments, the others expecting him to argue further, but when at last the mouse spoke, it was with resigned acceptance. "Well, we should at least try to figure out where the Queen's stayin', so we can avoid her and her Royal Guard. This fight'll be rough enough for us without runnin' smack into them too." He looked to Latura. "She ain't stayin' at Ballaster, is she? 'Cos that'd put a whole lot more fighters there than we might be able t' handle."

"Tho' then again," Tropsa said, "if she is at Ballaster, an' we c'n set off th' stormpowder stocks there, mebbe we'll be able t' take 'er out after all."

But Latura shook her head. "Naw. She ain't in th' stone place. She's 'ere." The ratmaid pointed at the hills overlooking the harbor. The others craned in for a better look at the map.

"Gov'ner's mansion," Scarnaty surmised.

"Aye, that'd make sense," agreed Rostand. "She'd not choose someplace harsh as Ballaster t' have her babe, an' she'd insist on th' very best fer luxury or comfort. O' course that'd be th' Gov'ner's mansion."

"Wonder if she's Martinoy's guest," Cordato speculated, "or if she kicked 'im out an' took over th' place fer herself. I could see 'er doin' that, 'specially with a babe t' deliver. Either way, don't matter t' us, since that ain't anyplace we was plannin' on goin' near anyways. Tho', that close to th' harbor, she might get some o' the blast effect when we blow any ships there … "

"Aye," Ramjohn absorbed, "she might … "

"So, let's start gettin' ready, 'fore this night gets any older," said Tropsa. "Gotta get Gram's rowboat tied up b'hind my fleetrunner. Scarnaty, Potdar, while we're doin' that, you two figger out 'tween you which rats you want on yer team that heads inta Ballaster; I already got my own team mostly set in my head fer goin' after that ironclad."

"I'll getcher supplied with stormpowder t' blow any ships you need to," Cordato told his fellow captain. "An' some way t' rig 'em to the enemy hulls so they'll blow right. We only got 'til dawn, so let's get to it!"

"I want Lattie over on th' _Goodwill_ with me," Ramjohn announced.

Cordato and the others looked at the mouse askance. "Now why wouldja want that, liddle matey? Yer shipkiller ain't even part o' this operation."

"Aye, but if things go wrong, then we could have galleons an' frigates headin' out toward us, an' we gotta be ready for 'em. You said Lattie's the only one who knows how t' line up shots accurately with that contraption, so it only makes sense I keep 'er on the _Goodwill_ with me, in case we need 'er there."

"That does … kinda … make sense," Tropsa sounded out his consideration aloud.

Cordato turned to Latura. "Well, I'll go by what _she_ says. What about it, Lattie? Wanna go with Cap'n Mousey aboard his shipkiller?"

" _Goodwill_ ," Ramjohn testily corrected.

Latura looked blank for a few moments, then gave a nod. "Aye, ayup, sure, I could do that!"

Cordato looked about to protest, then conceded, seeing no point in doing otherwise. "Okay. She'll join you on th' fleetrunner, an' Tropsa can drop you both off at yer ship on 'is way over to get things squared away on th' _Mainstaker_ with Gramaton. Now, if nobeast's got aught else t' say, let's get movin', 'cos there's lots t' do!"

Some time later, Ramjohn and Latura found themselves standing on the deck of the _Goodwill_ as Tropsa pulled away from the weaponship to take his fleetrunner across to the _Mainstaker_. The mouse turned to the ratmaid. "Why don't you stay up here an' enjoy th' fresh night ocean air fer a bit, Lattie? Gotta confer with my crew down below, bring 'em up t' speed on all that's goin' on."

"Um, aye, sure!"

And some time after that, Ramjohn sat with some of his rat crew in the captain's cabin of the _Goodwill_ , the ones Cordato had assigned to help run the ship but also to keep an eye on the former tradermouse to make sure he didn't step out of line in any way.

What neither Cordato nor his rats aboard the _Goodwill_ could guard against was just what constituted stepping out of line, when Ramjohn himself was the only conduit for orders between the Redfoam and the _Goodwill_ , as he was now.

"Okay, lissen up," the mouse told the rats around him. "Got new orders from Cap'n Cordato, an' here's what he needs us t' do … "


	72. Chapter LXXI

**LXXI.**

 **TALAGA**

Grabbrack hated flying at night.

But, having heard out his inadvertent scouts on their accidental discovery of the rebel fleet, the cormorant chieftain decided the flight was worth it. He'd almost dismissed his birds' report at first, since they spoke of four ships and not the three that the master spyrat had instructed him to search for, but when they described a sailing ship accompanied by one of the small spyboats, and a third ship unlike anything any of the seabirds had ever seen before, Grabbrack knew in his pinions that his cormorants would not need to fly far out to sea to find their quarry. It had come to them.

Unfortunately, for all that he and his flock had worked with the searats in their new and tenuous alliance, they really had no system in place for the cormorants to reach out to the rodents, since the searats always came to them with instructions, information and materials. Grabbrack had overflown Talaga Village many times in his life, and thus knew the general layout of the bayside settlement, including the location of the Governor's mansion, where Grabbrack naturally assumed any prestigious and important figure of Tratton's court would keep itself. So there he went, finding his way through the dark skies and over moonlit land and water as best he could.

Grabbrack had no way of knowing that the Searat Queen currently resided at the Governor's mansion, or that Uroza did not, although he had gathered that Tratton himself had departed from Talaga; much of searat comings and goings and political maneuverings remained a mystery to him, nor was he particularly interested in learning of such things, as long as they bore no impact on him directly. In his simple bird mind, it had been impressed upon him that evening that Uroza was a supremely important rat, therefore it only followed that he would stay at what was clearly the most befitting domicile for such a creature. And that could only be the grand, pink-hued manse at the center of the ridge overlooking the bay, although the dark of night now hid the structure's distinct rosy hue.

Trushar had, of course, posted guards at all the doorways, where they would stand watch day and night to ensure nobeast disturbed the Queen … or sought to do more than just disturb her. Talaga might now lie under the firm paw of Regelline and her beholden Governor Voccola, but malcontents and schemers were to be found in all parts of the Empire, with no chances to be taken.

It never occurred to either Regelline or Trushar that one of the species they needed to guard against was the cormorants from the isle's wild western half.

Grabbrack made a clumsy landing a dozen or so paces from the steps leading up to the the mansion's main entrance. The two sentries, not expecting anything of the sort to happen during their shift, almost dropped their spears, then clutched their fumbled weapons in uncertainty as the bird waddled right up to them, showing no fear.

"Where is spychief? Must speak, have news for him."

The sentries stared at Grabbrack, dumbfounded that any cormorant would show up here in such a manner, at this hour, and issue such a demand.

Grabbrack stared from one to the other in impatience. " _WELL?!_ "

At last one of the rats answered, "Uh, Spymaster Uroza, you mean?"

"Yes yes. Spychief. Have found ships for him. Must tell."

No statement could have mystified the two guards more, since Uroza had shared news of the slave rebellion with norat other than Torabi and the rat troops serving directly under her who'd accompanied Uroza in his meeting with Grabbrack. "Ships?"

"Yes, ships! Wanted ships found! Have found them! Must speak now!"

The other guard said, "Spymaster Uroza's stayin' down at Gov'ner Voccola's place, I think."

Grabbrack stabbed him with an acerbic glare. "This not searat head house here?"

"Well, um, it is, but th' Queen's stayin' here now. Gov'ner's been forced t' move inta second'ry accommerdations, down in Harbormaster Rovtar's place". The rat pointed to a somewhat less impressive dwelling around the curve of the ridge and slightly downslope from them.

"I find spychief there?"

"Uh, I think so, yeah."

Without a further word of gratitude or acknowledgement, Grabbrack turned and wobbled off toward the indicated structure. "Will walk, I think. Too dark for flying," he said, more to himself than to the rats. "Hate night flying."

This left the two guards staring after him in bewilderment, then one looked to the other. "Think we oughta go tell Trushar 'bout this?"

"What would we tell 'im? That bird t'weren't makin' no sense, goin' on 'bout lost ships bein' found. What ships of ours have gone missin', an' why would that feathery brute be findin' 'em?"

"Um, yeah, that's a fair point. But what if it's sumpthin' th' Queen wanted t' know about?"

" _You_ wanna wake her from 'er beauty sleep? Do that, an' ye're like as not t' be stripped outta yer uniform an' given over to those beastly birds fer droppin' an' slicin'."

The first rat gulped at this horrible prospect. "Aye, when y' put it like that, t'ain't naught that can't wait 'til morn, I reckern."

00000000000

Rather than follow a course straight into Fort Ballaster and its tiny adjacent harbor, Tropsa decided on a more oblique route aimed at the waters off the northeast shores of Talaga, slightly past the fortress but still well above the main bay where they hoped to deliver their greatest blow here.

"Reckon they saw us?" Scarnaty anxiously asked the erstwhile fleetrunner captain as Tropsa helped untie the crowded rowboat from his own spycraft. Using both sails and oars, the double assault team had succeeded in reaching their target isle in very good time, even with the drag of the tethered dinghy trailing behind the slightly larger vessel.

"Naught we can do about it if they have," Tropsa grunted as he undid the last of the knots connecting the two boats, their hulls occasionally clunking together in the gentle swells. "One bad thing 'bout these latitudes, least as far as this night goes fer us, is that there's seldom any cloud cover t' hide the moon, so we're stuck with that. Now, Ballaster's up on a clifftop overlookin' the sea, with no direct view straight down to the cliff face, so that's their blind spot. Even if some sentry there did spot us coming inta Talaga, they might not've picked up that we were towin' you lot, so we might still be able t' catch 'em by surprise an' off guard. Just stick close t' shore below where their lookouts can spy, an' mebbe ye'll be able t' land an' make it inside through yer secret ways without bein' seen or givin' yerselves away."

Scarnaty gave Tropsa a sour look which was mostly lost in the darkness. "Ain'tcher fergettin', _I'm_ th' one who actshully served at Ballaster? I got an inkling what can an' can't be seen from those battlements, an' where we gotta keep ourselves t' keep from gettin' found out."

"Well, be off with ya then!" Tropsa snapped with a bit of bad temper. "I got a dock t' blow an' an ironclad t' capture!"

Scarnaty scowled, leading the rest of his meagre crew in pushing off from the fleetrunner with their oars, taking care not to upset their tightly-packed landing boat. Getting turned about to strike shoreward, they set to rowing while _Fleetrunner Eleven_ sailed off to rendezvous with whatever destiny awaited her in Talaga Harbor.

Everything seemed to go according to plan; drawing abreast of the rocky shoreline, the fortress assault team hugged the coastline as close as they dared until they were almost directly under Fort Ballaster, towering unseen on the bluff above them. There Rostand directed the rowers to land them on a small sandy patch amid the rocks; Scarnaty may have been the one in their company who'd actually served within Ballaster, but Rostand had been a general laborer on the island and knew this area from the outside even better than Scarnaty did, including the best place to put ashore for their purposes and the external location of the secret way in that Scarnaty had promised Cordato.

The eleven rats of the expedition - the most that the dinghy could safely accommodate, and even that had been stretching the term "safely" - piled out of the rowboat as its shallow keel scraped against the sand and pulled their landing craft fully up onto the paces-wide beach to ground it against high tide. Land rats comprised most of their company, but those woodlanders were perfectly content to allow Scarnaty and Rostand, as the two rats familiar with this site, to take the lead and issue the orders.

"Okay," Scarnaty whispered to Rostand, rather unnecessarily since nobeast up in the fortress could have heard them in any event, "I know there's a wastewater pipe that lets out somewhere up above, but I only ever had th' vaguest idea where it were, since I mostly stayed to th' inside of th' fort. You know it better from the outside than I do, so we'll be lookin' to you t' guide us."

Rostand pointed up and slightly to their right. "That way, I think. They built it so it ain't easy t' get to, but still could be got to fer any needed maint'nernce. It'll take some climbin' up these rocks, an' we'll hafta go single file."

"You lead the way then."

Some time later, with various slips and stumbles among their company resulting in a variety of scrapes and bruises, Rostand located the outflow port, the rockface around it as slick and putrid as the narrow egress itself. One of the woodland rats wrinkled her snout. "Bad 'nuff we tired ourselves out with rowin' ourselves here an' then that punishin' climb, but now we gotta put up with this too?"

"I toldja on th' _Redfoam_ this wouldn't be no sweet stroll in th' meadow," Scarnaty shot back. "Course Ballaster wouldn't be designed so that anybeast could just walk inta it anytime they wanted. As y' may've noterced, there's also a heavy iron grating over it that we'll hafta pry off. Just count ourselves lucky they made this chute wide 'nuff so's we c'n climb through it."

"Yah," grunted the complaining rat, "lucky."

Rostand passed a sturdy prybar to Scarnaty even as he hefted one of his own. "Okay, I gotcha here, so th' rest is yer show. You sure y' know where these pipes lead to, an' how we're gonna get out of 'em once we're inside th' fort?"

"Aye, that I do. Was sent down inta 'em once or twice t' clean 'em out when too much rubbish an' filth piled up in spots. There's openin's throughout th' fort, but we'll wanna take th' first one we reach, which'll be down on th' dungeon level, right where we wanna be. One time I did crawl all th' way out here t' where I could overlook th' sea, so I knows it can be done, tho' we might hafta give each other a paw up on some of th' steeper inclines an' upturns. As fer this grate, it opens pretty easy from th' inside, so shouldn't be too much trouble forcing it open from outside either - just gotta find th' right spots to apply our leverage."

"If you says it can be done, Scars, we'll take yer word on it." Rostand looked to the rest of their company as he and Scarnaty set to work on the grate covering the end of the pipe. "Keep all yer weapons close t' you, an' be ready t' use 'em soon as we get out inta th' lower levels - we could run inta guards at any point from then on. An' be ready t' give yer spare blades t' any slaves 'n' pris'ners we c'n free, so's they c'n join us in this fight. If this turns inta outright battle, we'll need as many extra sword paws on our side as we c'n get!"

Thus prepared, the rebel assault team for Fort Ballaster levered themselves one by one up into their egress of secret entry and made their slow, unsavory way on paws and knees up into the stronghold where they hoped to find new allies to win their cause.

00000000000

Tap-tap-tap.

Unlike the Governor's mansion where the Searat Queen now made her home, Harbormaster Rovtar's slightly less lavish residence had no night guards posted, Governor Voccola secure in the faith that norat on Talaga would challenge him or seek to do him harm. Thus did Grabbrack saunter right up to the front door without being noticed by anybeast within. Slightly piqued by this lack of any reception for so prestigious a chieftain as himself, the cormorant cocked his head to gaze up where a couple of the windows still showed lamplight shining through, chambers where some of the house staff busied themselves with late tasks and chores. Tempted as he was to flutter up to those lit rooms and announce himself to the occupants there, Grabbrack instead settled for hammering the main ground floor door with his bill, rapping with such force that the varnished surface was left dented and splintered by his beak.

More lights came on in the windows upstairs, and a few on the first floor too, as the modest mansion's occupants stirred themselves in response to this aural avian assault. The pitted front door finally cracked open, one of the house guards peering leerily through the narrow opening to spy out this rude nocturnal intruder. "Whaddya want?"

"Spychief rat. Must speak. Is here?"

The house guard blinked out at the feathered monstrosity visited on them this night. "Huh, what? You mean Spymaster Uroza? Nay, he ain't here. What made ya think he would be?"

Grabbrack gave an impatient ruffle. "Told at bighouse find spychief here. So where is?"

"Went back down to 'is fleetrunner. Guess 'ee don't trust sleepin' in any bed that ain't 'is own, inside 'is own hull. If ye're lookin' fer him, that's where he should be."

"Hope not told wrong again. Hate being told wrong. Peck out eyes of own birds who tell me wrong. Will try littleboat then." Grabbrack turned and, just as he had at the Governor's mansion, sauntered away without further explanation or apology, leaving the confused guard to shut the abused door again and give silent thanks that he wasn't one of Grabbrack's birds.

00000000000

"Okay, that should have given them enough time."

Ramjohn turned to his rat crew as he took his place at the _Goodwill_ 's pilot's wheel. "Haul up anchor an' take to th' ropes! Let's catch that wind an' see what kind of time we can make!"

While Tropsa had been towing the Ballaster assault team toward Talaga in _Fleetrunner Eleven_ , the mouse captain unobtrusively oversaw the full deployment and shaping of his sails for an unsanctioned midnight excursion of his own. Now the ocean breezes billowed out those canvases and moved the weaponship from her spot across from the _Redfoam_ and southward, following in the wake of the smaller spycraft.

Latura ambled over to Ramjohn's side, the expression of mildly concerned confusion on her face mostly hidden by the dark. "'ey, Cap'n Mousey, whatcher doin'?"

"Never you mind, Lattie. I got this under control an' firmly in paw."

"We goin' fer a sail?"

"Aye, that we are."

"Cap'n Ratty dinnit say nuthin' 'bout us sailin' anywheres in th' shipkiller."

" _Goodwill_. She's called th' _Goodwill_." Ramjohn noticed that one or two of the searats on the steering deck nearby seemed to have come more alert at Latura's last statement, and now looked to him with questions in their eyes. "An' sure he did, Lattie. These're Cap'n Cordato's orders, just like I said."

"Um, I don't think so … "

"Don't doubt your captain, lass. 'Tis nautical bad luck, as any seafarin' beast will tell ya." Ramjohn chose his words carefully, playing to his crew as much as to the ratmaid.

"But I did'n't hear 'im say aught about - "

"He took me aside after th' main meeting let out," Ramjohn cut in. "When nobeast else was listening."

"Uh, when was that? I didn't see - "

"It's a secret mission," the mouse interrupted again. "So secret, Cordato didn't even want the other captains t' know about it. Now, you don't wanna go an' spoil a special secret mission, do ya, Lattie?"

"Um … no?"

"That's a good lass. Now you just sit tight, an' let us do the sailing 'til we get to where we gotta be."

Conflicting emotions flitted across Latura's face. "Allers heard mice were nice beasts."

Ramjohn flashed her a fang-filled smile. "Aye, that we are, Lattie. Nicest beasts you'll ever wanna meet on land or sea. Nice right down to our bones, that's us mice all right!"

"Okaaay .. " Latura wandered away to amuse herself on the weapons turntable. One of the searats stepped forward.

"What was that about, mouse? Are these Cap'n Cordato's orders or ain't they?"

Ramjohn levelled a stern gaze at the deckpaw. "Long as you're servin' on my ship, you'll address me as 'captain,' not 'mouse.' And of course these're Cordato's order, just like I told ya."

"Lattie didn't seem too sure o' that … "

"Lattie gets confused sometimes, you know that. She might be good at bigger, vaguer things her prophetic vision can tell 'er, but this's brass tacks tactics we're talking about here, the logistics of this coordinated strike. Got three sep'rate teams we gotta juggle an' make sure they all get it just right, all at th' same time. That's why we hadta wait 'til now to set sail, so the other two teams would have time to land an' get in position. This's captain stuff, so you leave it to us captains, an' just be ready to do your part when I give the orders."

"Um, aye … Cap'n sir."

Over on the _Redfoam_ , meanwhile, a hue and cry had gone up when it became clear that the _Goodwill_ had pulled up anchor and was now under full sail toward Talaga. Cordato stood at his ship's rail practically foaming at the mouth.

"What in th' name o' Hellgates an' searot does that pipsqueak think 'ee's doin'?!"

"Um, looks like 'ee's leavin'," the lookout Trovato supplied unhelpfully.

The commotion had drawn Potdar to the rail as well. "Are we gonna go after 'im?"

Cordato ground his teeth. "Nay. Nay, we ain't. Whatever that mouse's got in mind, we set ev'rything else up too tightly t' deviate from it now. If we move from this spot, Tropsa won't know where t' find us. Fer now, we hold fast, an' hope that our mouse friend don't mess things up too badly."

"Reckon he means t' make off with th' shipkiller alt'gether, leave us high 'n' dry without 'im?" Potdar asked.

"Nay. He hates rats too much, an' he knows he can do 'em more damage if he sticks with us than on 'is own. 'Sides, his crew would never go along with that. Dunno what 'ee told 'em t' make 'em go along with whatever he's got in mind now, but it won't be t' cut an' run."

"He's got Lattie with 'im. We lose her, we might as well slit our own throats an' save Tratton the trouble."

"Don't think we'll be losin' her. Forces o' fate 're too strong around that one. I 'spect he wanted her on board just t' ensure we allow him a free paw, so we don't try anything against him. Guarantee of our good behavior, if y' will."

Potdar snorted. "What could we do against 'in anyway? He's got th' shipkiller."

"Yah," Cordato conceded. "What could we do?"


	73. Chapter LXXII

**LXXII.**

 **FORT BALLASTER**

Scarnaty had almost made it to the top of the steeply-upsloping chute when the sound of voices above froze him in place.

Too muffled and indistinct for individual words to stand out, the fragmented conversation nevertheless served as a pointed reminder that the assault team would be emerging up into an occupied portion of Fort Ballaster, if only in the bowels of the stronghold, and that the intruders might have to fight their way through from the moment they gained the top, much as they would prefer to keep their presence a secret for as long as possible.

Scarnaty hissed down to Rostand below him, "Hold, an' still! Got enemy right above us!"

As Rostand passed this urgently-whispered imperative down the line, Scarnaty raised his head again to see what he might be able to make out in the murky gloom above … just in time to have the barrowful of discarded fruit rinds and vegetable peelings smack him squarely in the face.

The lead rat had all he could do to keep from crying out in surprised revulsion at this unsanitary indignity. As the garbage spilled around and past his sputtering mouth, shaking snout and blinking eyes, he did hear growls and mutters from his companions below.

The indistinct voices up above suddenly went silent, and Scarnaty froze anew.

There was light in the chamber above - not much, perhaps the glow from a single small lamp, or maybe not even that - and against that dimness appeared the equally dim outline of a head peering down into the disposal shaft.

Scarnaty's heart rose into his throat, the rebel rat certain they were about to be discovered.

"'ey, Thakk! Jus' 'eard some funny noises comin' from down there … "

"Hope that don't mean we gotta climb down an' clean it out agin." The second voice was also clearer and closer now, but as yet only a single rat's head remained silhouetted against the aperture at the top. "Hate doin' that."

"Naw, didn't sound like a clog or jam-up. More like … voices."

"Aw, that ain't nuthin' new. That thing leads out to th' sea cliff, y' know, an' sometimes th' sea breeze blows past its mouth there t' set up all kinds of moanin' sounds. You heard the jokes 'bout it bein' haunted … by the' ghosts of meals long past, harr harr!"

"Aye … " The closer rat's tone was dubious. Then, on a whim, he gave a loud shout down into the shaft, making Scarnaty's ears flatten. "Hullo?!"

Now every one of the would-be invaders, aware of the situation, held itself still, most with breath held, to see if their bid for infiltration would be thwarted before it had even gotten fully underway.

But the rat staring down into the darkness only shrugged after a few moments when no reply or echo of anything amiss came back to his ears. Scarnaty slowed exhaled when the head withdrew from the opening and the two fortress rats exchanged a few more words, grown unintelligible again to suggest they'd moved away from the chute, and perhaps out of the chamber altogether.

Nevertheless, Scarnaty held to his spot, heart pounding in his chest, until full silence fell, and he was sure nobeast occupied the space into which they planned to emerge. Then he resumed the final stretch of his slow, careful climb.

He and Rostand were the first two up out of the shaft, motioning and whispering to the others behind them to stay down until the two searats had a chance to investigate the immediate area for danger or resistance. It was here that Scarnaty took full charge as he and his companion ducked their heads out of the small alcove containing the refuse chute, through the doorless archway into the passage beyond. No lamp or candle burned in the tiny chamber itself, all light coming from a solitary lantern hung out in the stone corridor, so the raiders could keep well to the shadows while scanning for the enemy. As luck would have it, the coast was clear for the moment, the two trash-bearers having moved on, but the dungeon-seasoned Scarnaty took nothing for granted.

"Norat's about now, but this level could be crawlin' with 'em, a bunch lurkin' 'round ev'ry corner. Sees a lot o' use, 'tween that rubbish hole an' stores 'n' stocks an' the armory an' th' dungeons themselves. Gotta be real careful, an' ready fer battle at ev'ry turn."

"You say th' amory's down 'ere too?" Rostand whispered back. "Mebbe we could raid it too, stock up on some good weapons t' arm whoever we free."

"Naw - too far outta our way, too likely t' run inta more of the fort soldiers if we go there, an' it'll be locked up just as tight as th' dungeons. We'll have enuff weapons, 'tween what we brought with us an' what we'll take from any jail guards we slay. That'll be a tall enuff order fer us t' get done, so let's just work on that fer now."

"Okay, so which way to th' holdin' cells?"

Scarnaty pointed to their right. "That way … tho' we'd best scope out both ends of this passage, make sure there's norat like t' come up behind us an' catch us by surprise." He glanced at the lantern hanging on the corridor wall. "Dimmer down 'ere than I remember it - must be cuttin' back on their oil usage."

Stepping out into the corridor to make room for a few more of their companions to climb up into the alcove, they then formed up into two small teams, Scarnaty going up the passage and Rostand going down it. When they reconvened back at the rubbish chute, each reported that a few Ballaster soldiers were to be seen around each corner.

"We'll ferget about yers fer now, since we'll be goin' away from 'em, an' hopefully we'll be able t' take out any 'tween here an' th' dungeons without raisin' a wider alarm," said Scarnaty. "Tho', we will hafta head back that way t' get to the powder stores. Hope we've got a lot more fighters with us by then."

All eleven of their party now out into the corridor with weapons at the ready and fairly crowding that short section of the passage, Scarnaty led them forward to the first junction lying between them and the dungeons. There he halted them with an upraised paw.

"Awright, it'll look too suspishersh if we all come toward 'em at once. Which o' ye was claimin' t' be the best fighter amongst ye?"

A land rat named Mattrick stepped forward. "That'd be me," he whispered back.

"Then here's what we'll do, since we gotta keep this on th' sly fer as long as we can. Me 'n' Ross'll make like ye're a pris'ner an' we're escortin' ya down to be put in a cell with th' rest. That should let us get close enuff so we can take 'em by surprise an' cut 'em down quick, 'fore they can shout t'all."

"But, we jus' got reg'lar deckpaw uniforms, if they c'n be called uniforms t'all. Not like th' proper uniforms Ballaster's troops wear. They'll know at a glance we don't belong down 'ere."

"Will they? In these dim passages? I wager we'll be able t' get real close 'fore aught strikes 'em as outta place. 'Sides, mebbe they'll think we're from th' crew of that frigate docked at their harbor, sent t' deliver one of our own inta their custody. I'm sure things like that happen sometimes."

"So," Mattrick softly growled over their shoulders, "we gonna do this any day soon, or are you two jus' gonna stand there jabberin' 'til dawn?"

They took the hint. "Aye, we're doin' it," Scarnaty affirmed with a self-assuring nod. "You get 'tween us, paws b'hind yer back like they're bound … "

With all of Urthblood's former troops filling Fort Ballaster's cells, it had become customary for three guards to be assigned to the dungeon entrance at all times. If there were ever a breakout, two would contain the would-be escapees for as long as they could, buying the third precious moments to race off and raise the alarm throughout the fortress and muster the troops to put down the riot before it could spread beyond the lower levels. Even though other measures had been taken as well which would put the prisoners at a disadvantage, no chances were being taken where Urthblood's rats were concerned.

However, all these safeguards had been predicated on the assumption that nobeast would ever try to break the prisoners free from this side of the dungeon doors.

Maybe Scarnaty had been correct in his assertion about the low light levels cloaking their identity, or the dungeonkeepers down here sometimes accepting new prisoners from ships of the Fleet harbored at Talaga, but whatever the reason, the trio of infiltrators were able to walk right up to the opposing threesome of cellar guards before being called out.

"Hey, what're you - "

Rostand had his sword out in a flash and slashed the questioning guardrat across the throat, cleaving his neck halfway through. Scarnaty did him one better, taking his own target's head clean off.

The third rat, eyes wide with terror, turned to run as he'd been trained to do, but the other half of his training abandoned him in his panic, and rather than cry out a warning which may have reached the ears of other fortress rats on this level, he remained mute in his fear, focused solely on escape. That hope died along with him as Mattrick chased him down, laid him low with a blade between the shoulders and then finished the job with a wicked slash across the throat to silence this herald forever.

Rostand looked to the results of Mattrick's initiative, then said to Scarnaty, "Hmm. I guess some o' these woodland rats are pretty decent fighters, ain't they?"

"That's good, 'cos we might need ev'ry one of 'em 'fore we're outta this. Okay, go bring th' rest of th' crew around t' join us … but, ah, keep one lookout posted at each end o' the hall, t' let us know if anyrat's comin' - an' hopefully we can avoid gettin' caught between two groups of defenders an' cut off from our escape route 'fore we c'n get any of these pris'ners free." Scarnaty glanced up and down the dim stone corridor. "No place t' stash these bodies, so they'll hafta stay out in the open fer now. Mebbe later we c'n drag 'em down inta th' dungeons, once we get 'em open."

"Should we do a uniform swap with 'em?" Rostand suggested as Mattrick ran back to fetch the rest of their team. "Have a couple of our rats dress up in their clothes, an' play-act as guards ourselves?"

"Don't think we'll have time fer that. Tho' that'll depend on how quick we c'n get in an' out, won't it? An' on that score … " Scarnaty led Rostand on a quick search of the three slain guardsrats' bodies, turning up what he had feared. "No keys," he announced to the rest of his team, now gathered around him save for the two lookouts stationed at either end of the passage. "That's what I was afraid of."

"Why wouldn't they have th' keys?" asked one of the land rats, confused. "They're th' dungeon guards, ain't they?"

"They were only here t' keep inmates from gettin' _out_ , an' t' raise the alarm if any did," replied Scarnaty. "An' my guess is they were denied keys fer the very reason that's frustratin' us now. If anybeast needed t' be let in or outta here, more guards would bring th' keys with 'em from another part of th' fortress. 'Member, with Urthblood's rats locked down 'ere, they'd not be takin' any chances. In fact, wouldn't surprise me if we find one or two more guards inside, keepin' direct watch on th' pris'ners themselves."

"If that's true, why don't we jus' knock, an' see if they let us in?" suggested a rat named Catrola, who'd been nominated for this expedition by Potdar for her lockpicking skills.

"'Cos they might only respond to a certain pattern o' knocks," Scarnaty shot back, "or mebbe there's a password, or they'll only open up t' certain guards known to 'em, or to officers. Could be all kinda safeguards put in place since I was last 'ere. Just hope th' door's not bolted or barred from th' inside, elsewise we might not be gettin' in t'all. Now, I been told ye're real handy with a lock pick, so set t' work with those tools you brought along from th' _Redfoam_ , an' let's see how quick you c'n get us in."

Several of the woodland rats bristled at how even a lowly former searat dungeon guard could invoke such automatically-assumed authority and superiority over the more numerous land rats of the rebellion, but as they'd already accepted Rostand and Scarnaty as the leaders of this infiltration team - and for good, common sense reasons - they swallowed their gorge and stood ready to fight or take further orders as the situation warranted, while Catrola pulled out her instruments and bent her efforts toward the dungeon door lock impeding their progress.

Tense heartbeats dragged out, dozens and scores turning to hundreds as Catrola struggled with the lock, and her companions stood by alert for an attack they worried might break over them at any moment. "What's takin' so long?" Scarnaty hissed at her.

"This's a fursodden tricky lock, that's what!" she snarled without glancing up. "Feels like it's got an extra set o' tumblers. One can be hard 'nuff, but two … "

"Thought you was s'posed t' be good."

"I'm th' best _you_ got, so shaddup an' let me concentrate … "

It took longer than any of the rebel rats would have liked, but at last Catrola's finessing and coaxing of the lock mechanism was rewarded with a distinctly solid click more conclusive than her prior clinkings and rattlings, and she stood up in satisfaction. "There. I done my part. Up t' you fighters now."

"Not so fast." Holding his blade at the ready, Scarnaty opened the dungeon door and pushed it wide. No hidden guards greeted them on the other side, but what did meet their gazes once their eyes adjusted to the even deeper gloom below did little to hearten them.

A short flight of a half-dozen steps led down to a passage mere paces long before ending at … another door, much like the one they'd just opened.

"Whaddya wanna bet that one's locked too?" Rostand muttered.

"Be amazed if t'weren't," Scarnaty agreed.

Catrola groaned.

"Get t' work," Scarnaty told her. "An' see if you c'n make quicker work of it this time, will ya?"

As the female lockpick descended for her second attempt, Rostand regarded the newly-revealed antechamber with dissatisfaction. "Not even big 'nuff t' fit our whole comp'ny down there t' get us outta sight, an' stashin' those dead guards in that dungeony vesterbule would only put 'em in our own way."

"We'd not want t' hide ourselves down there in any event," Scarnaty said. "Enemy force comes along, closes an' locks this upper door, an' we'd become pris'ners 'stead o' liberators. Naw, if we're discovered, we'll hafta make our stand up here where we'll not be easily captured. Mebbe give up on freein' Urthblood's rats, an' see if we could fight our way thru to th' powder room."

"You know how t' get there from here?" Rostand probed hopefully.

"Pretty sure I do - unless they've gone an' moved it."

"That's … reassurin', I guess." Rostand regarded the slain dungeon troops anew. "Now that we got a delay on our paws, about that uniform swap …?"

By the time Catrola had worked her way through the second door's locks, three of their appropriately-sized team members had stripped out of their _Redfoam_ outfits and into the uniforms of the slain guards … which didn't make any of the trio all that happy.

"Hey, they're all covered in blood!"

"Just be glad it ain't yers, an' quit complainin'," Rostand admonished. "Can't see th' stains down 'ere in this murk, so it'll be good 'nuff t' fool anyrat from a distance. You three'll stand guard up by the outer door once th' rest of us get inside th' dungeons, just in case any of th' fort guards get past our lookouts. That'll give us enuff time t' rally an' hopefully cut 'em down 'fore they wise up t' what we're all about."

Catrola whispered up at them that she'd finally broached the second lock, urging her companions down to her in case additional guards truly did lurk behind this inner door; they'd been caught by surprise once that way already when breaking into the _Redfoam_ 's workshop and armory during their initial rebellion, and with a mere eleven comprising their total strike force now, they had not a rat to spare.

Rostand led the way, Scarnaty staying back to ensure the safety of at least one of the expedition's leaders if something went wrong here. With a small knot of swords-at-the-ready rats at his side, Rostand pushed open the second door and strained into the darkness beyond to make out …

… an empty aisle, unguarded, but with rows of cell doors on either paw.

Rostand puffed out his whiskers in an exhale of both relief and frustration. "Whaddya wanna wager they're all locked too?" he grumbled to nobeast in particular.

"Well," Scarnaty weighed in a few moments later, descending himself once the all-clear had been given, "good thing Catrola ain't the only able lockpick we brought with us, 'cos there's work here fer ev'ry able paw. So, get t' work, all o' ye!"

With one lookout posted at either end of the corridor above and the three in the borrowed, bloodied Ballaster uniforms holding their station by the upper dungeon door, the remainder of their team filed into the dungeon proper, both to stay out of sight and to be on paw to greet the freed prisoners upon their release.

A rat named Serwatka was first to get his cell open. Snatching one of the three lit lanterns which represented the entire dungeon's sole source of illumination, Scarnaty stepped into the dark and malodorous cell with lamp raised high in one paw and sword in the other.

Over a dozen gaunt rats stared up at him with hollow gazes. None were manacled, thank the fates, or else this rescue would have taken all night. But, to Scarnaty's consternation, he saw that none of the prisoners wore a stitch of clothing.

Seeing no resistance immediately forthcoming, Scarnaty adopted a tone he hoped would come across as both commanding and commiserating. "Any o' you Urthblood's rats?"

The downtrodden rodents merely continued to stare, with not a single nod or arm going up in response to this question. Deciding to change his tack, he declared, "Lissen up. We're rebel slaves, we ain't fort guards, an' we come t' free you. We brought extra weapons, so if y' wanna fight, ye'll be able to. But, if all y' wanna do is escape, we c'n show you a way out too."

One of the prisoners blinked up at him. "If y' ain't fort guards, why're y' wearin' uniforms?"

"Look close, an' ye'll see they ain't Ballaster uniforms - they're crew garb. We're from th' _Redfoam_ , which is the galleon we took over fer ourselves. We already slew three o' the fort guards up above, an' we're lookin' t' slay more 'fore this night's over - mebbe lots more." Scarnaty regarded the prisoners more closely. "An' speakin' o' garb, why ain't any o' you wearin' anything t'all?"

A second rat on the floor volunteered this information. "'Tis said bein' an unclothed rat on Talaga these days is a special mark o' death - an' I don't just mean clearly identerfyin' us as pris'ners should any of us happen t' escape. Dunno more'n that - 'tis only talked about in whispers 'n' sniggers, th' guards gettin' some secret delight outta it that they ain't sharin' with us. But I c'n tell you that when one of 'em looks us up an' down in just our fur, there's a special evil glow in their eyes, like they're lookin' at our doom."

The first rat nodded knowingly. "Aye - an' any who've been led away ain't never come back. Dunno what they're doin' with us, but it ain't nuthin' good."

"Executions, y' reckon?" Scarnaty ventured.

"Reckon it's sumpthin' more'n that, tho' I 'magine it leaves ya just as dead." The rat prisoner regarded his self-proclaimed liberator. "So, ye're gonna break us outta here? Fine by me. But unless you brought along extra garb, we'll kinda stick out as escapees, an' we ain't 'xactly dressed fer battle neither." He gave a dry laugh that turned into a drier cough.

"But, if y' hadta fight, couldja?" Scarnaty probed. "Are y' in shape fer it, I mean?"

"Some o' us more'n others, but you'd find willin' paws, I'm sure. All you'd need is blades an' spears t' put in those paws."

"That we got. An' not just th' ones we took off th' three dead guards - we brought along spares of our own."

The rat captive gave a grim smile in the lantern light. "You plannin' a full-scale insurrection or summat?"

Scarnaty grinned back. "Aye. Sumpthin' like that!"

 **TALAGA HARBOR**

Grabbrack waddled down through Talaga Village - which attracted no undue notice, the lanes and paths lying mostly deserted at this time of night - and then waddled out onto the pier, which _did_ attract more than a little attention, this crucial lifeline to the rest of the Empire constantly staffed in normal times, and doubly so now, with the presence of Spymaster Uroza's fleetrunner and the ironclad _Deeprunner_ , and the presence of the Queen on Talaga as well. In fact, the crew of the frigate _Darksky_ had been kept mostly confined to their vessel as she lay moored to the dock, allowed onshore in rotating shifts of just a few at a time, so as not to overwhelm the settlement's authorities with an unruly wave of seavermin.

But it had become widely known throughout most of Talaga that the notorious Spymaster had conferred with the cormorant leader earlier that evening, for arcane motives and reasons still shrouded in secrecy, and so when the arrogant seabird strode down the beach and out onto the pier with no visible expectation of being stopped or questioned, he was allowed to pass freely with no paw, staff or blade raised to halt him.

"Must see spyratchief. Which boat his?"

Half-expecting, after the lack of success his quest had met with thus far, to be told Uroza wasn't here either and to seek elsewhere, Grabbrack received an answer much more to his liking. Directed to the second fleetrunner on the right, the cormorant sauntered out along the dock, webbed feet slapping against the wood planks with little care as to whether he roused or disturbed anyrat slumbering aboard the vessels he passed to either side of him.

Two rats he did not find slumbering were the pair Uroza had assigned to the upper deck of Fleetrunner Two to protect his own rest. Now they came alert at Grabbrack's approach, standing to attention with paws on their sword hilts.

"Must speak with spychief."

"He's sleepin', an' not to be disturbed."

"Wake him. Have urgent news."

The two rats exchanged looks, then the other said, "What news? We'll decide whether it's worth wakin' the Spymaster for."

Grabbrack, patience worn thin by the runaround he'd received all night, went into a stomping, flapping, squawking frenzy. "WAKE NOW, SPEAK NOW, NOWNOWNOW!"

"Is there a problem here?"

The two guards turned to see Uroza emerging from the companionway to the modest belowdeck cabin area, a sinister shadow moving against deeper shadows. No doubt drawn by the commotion, his swift arrival testified to his own light sleeping habits.

"Uh, says he wants to talk to you, Spymaster sir."

"Then it's a good thing I'm here." Uroza looked to Grabbrak. "What news do you bring, Chieftain?"

"Found ships you wanted found."

Uroza regarded the bird with skeptical surprise. "How can this be? I have not even briefed your scouts what to look for."

"Seen yesterday, just to north. Sitting still on water, going nowhere. My birds tell me this night, after ratmeet."

"Tell me what they saw."

"Four boats, all just sit on water, north of isle, just below horizon so ground beasts not see."

"Four? The group I seek should number only three. What makes you think this is them?"

Grabbrack ruffled in indignation at having his judgment questioned so. "Big sailing ship, small spyboat are two, just as told to me. Third is big flatboat, mover ship."

"A cargo barge? Most unexpected. And the fourth?"

"Strange. Sails front, sails back, big round wheel in middle, sticking out over sides. Not like any seen before. Is what you said to look for, is not?"

Uroza gave a slow nod. "Yes. Yes, it is. You and your birds have done well, Chieftain. This night you have proven what valuable allies you are."

"So, attack at daybreak? Kill manyrats?"

"Yes. At daybreak. Which means we had best start preparing right away." In his mind, Uroza had already begun plotting out the logistics for this assault. The addition of the cargo ship to the rebel fleet amounted to little, since she would be both unarmed and of limited maneuverability. But the _Darksky_ would have to be very careful about how she approached the _Seabolt_ , since that weapons platform could sink any ship in the Fleet.

Or almost any ship in the Fleet. Uroza glanced up at the _Deeprunner_ , moored on the same side of the dock as his own fleetrunner, and smiled a smile unpleasant to behold. His strategy was now laid out clearly in his head: the _Darksky_ would engage only the _Redfoam_ , frigate against galleon, while the ironclad went after the _Seabolt_ , to ram and sink the prototype if possible, or to board and battle if it came to that. This would leave the loyal fleetrunners to chase down the rouge one, since no other vessel could overtake those swift messenger boats. It would require an all-out effort, utilizing their full resources here on Talaga, but if all went well, he could have this rebellion crushed in a single day.

And this battle would also provide an opportunity to see just how Grabbrack's cormorants acquitted themselves in actual combat. They'd already proven their worth on this occasion just by locating the rebels and alerting Uroza of their closer-than-expected presence in these waters, but if they were ever to go up against Urthblood's gulls, they would need to do far more than act as aerial scouts. Grabbrack showed intent eagerness to join in this fray, and confident in his flock's ability to inflict substantial casualties on the unsuspecting rebels, and Uroza hoped that confidence was not misplaced, based on how easily the birds dispatched solitary slaves, unclothed and unarmed, in their insatiable thirst for rodent victims. Dawn would tell.

Which meant waiting for daylight to commence the assault - a delay Uroza might otherwise have preferred to avoid - since the cormorants did not fly at night and could not participate in any surprise attack under cover of darkness. Then again, if the rebel fleet lurked below the horizon, it might take until daybreak to sail out to them anyway, so the birds would get their chance to spill blood in any event.

Whichever way one sliced it, the moment to prepare was now. The various ships' crews would need to be fully mustered, the captains given their sailing orders and the strategy reviewed for meeting this rebel threat - including the danger posed by the _Seabolt_ , which no commander on Talaga was aware of, and which must be impressed upon them in no uncertain terms to quash any brash overconfidence on their part. The loss of even one vessel on their side, but the _Darksky_ in particular, could conceivably tip the odds in favor of their adversary, and that must be prevented at all costs.

Uroza inwardly remarked how he now firmly thought of the weapon ship as the _Seabolt_ and nothing else, in spite of his own admonition to Clucus not to grow too attached to that name. It was true that His Majesty had final say in naming the ships of the Fleet, but Tratton would never get to name this one, since she had to be destroyed as quickly as possible and by any means necessary. Thus, the name of this accursed ship would stand as Clucus had given it, as both tribute and indictment of what the ferret had unleashed upon the world, and upon searatkind in particular.

Before any hard preparations, however, time had come to bring Governor Voccola and Queen Regelline up to date on these events. As the only two rats on all of Talaga to rival or exceed him in authority here, he would need both firmly on his side and committed to this necessary action themselves before he could start issuing orders left and right to all the captains in port. He almost hesitated to bring the Queen in on this, half-suspecting she might see in these events some way to weaken her husband and bolster her own standing. But the Spymaster felt confident that, once he laid out the stakes to her, she'd be left no choice but to go along with him, and see to it that he had all the resources necessary to overcome this challenge.

And one other issue needed to be addressed as well. His earlier meeting with Voccola had impressed upon Uroza one aspect of the present command structure which hadn't seemed particularly urgent at the time, but now loomed very large indeed. Kirkirt had piloted the _Deeprunner_ into port on Talaga, but Kirkirt had then gone on to sail with His Majesty to Salamandastron, leaving the ironclad without any officially-appointed skipper. Likewise, Voccola had piloted the _Darksky_ in, but with his subsequent promotion to Governor, that frigate was also left without a proper, seasoned captain. It was as if Tratton had viewed the vessels left docked here as inactive and out of service until needed, never imagining that that need would come upon them even as they lay at harbor. Uroza would need to consult with Voccola over whom the former captain deemed most suitable to take the helms of the _Darksky_ and _Deeprunner_ for this mission, even if it meant Voccola himself temporarily abdicating his Governor's seat to command his old frigate once more. Uroza was sure he could get Voccola to agree to whatever must be done.

But it had to be done now, if their force was to sail before dawn. Glancing shoreward at the mostly-dark Harbormaster's residence where Voccola now also resided, Uroza mused that he would need to rouse the Governor from his slumbers, even if Grabbrack had failed to do so earlier.

"Chieftain," he said to the cormorant, "I suspect our ships will already have set sail to go out to meet the enemy before daybreak. Follow along with your flock as soon as it's light enough for you to fly, and we will see you on the high seas for battle. Bring your weapons."

"Creeeaaack!" Grabbrack cawed in enthusiastic affirmation.

And so the Grand Spymaster of the Searat Empire took it upon himself to tramp his way along the pier and up the nighttime beach into the paved lanes leading up to the Harbormaster's residence … failing to notice the low-profile, sails-furled fleetrunner only just nosing her way into Talaga Harbor behind him.


	74. Chapter 74

**LXXIII.**

 **FORT BALLASTER**

With their numbers bolstered by the prisoners freed from Fort Ballaster's dungeons, Rostand and Scarnaty's assault team went on the offensive, searching out additional fort guards to slay before those sentries could find them.

A half dozen fallen defenders later, the rebels stood before the door to the stormpowder storage room, their incursion still undiscovered, as far as they knew.

"Y' sure this's th' place, Scars?" Rostand asked as he regarded the large, heavy door.

"Sure as I can be. Like I said, 's been awhile since I was last 'ere." Scarnaty gave the handle a try and, naturally, found it locked. "They don't leave nuthin' open down 'ere, do they? Ye'd think they didn't trust us! Check those two fer keys; they looked like they was watchin' over this place when we came upon 'em an' cut 'em down!"

A quick search of the two sentries' bodies turned up no keys, eliciting a groan from Scarnaty. "Why can't anything ever be easy? Okay, somerat run back to th' dungeons an' fetch me one of our lockpicks t' tackle this fer us."

"Sure they c'n be spared?" asked one of the freed prisoners as he stooped to strip a dead guard of his uniform so he could claim it for his own. "There were a lot o' cells back there, an' yer pickers're prob'ly still workin' on gettin' 'em all open."

"This's more important. Once we get past this door an' see what's behind it, we'll have a better idea o' how all th' rest o' this is gonna shake out an' what our options are. So snap to it!"

A short time later Catrola, called away from her prisoner-freeing efforts in the dungeons, knelt before the supposed stormpowder storeroom door, grumbling anew as she struggled with her latest lockpicking challenge of this very late night. "Gaaah! This 'un's even harder'n any of the others! Prison cells I c'n unnerstand, but why'd they hafta have this place locked up so tight too?"

"Makes sense this's th' last place they'd want any pris'ners gettin' inta if they did escape," Scarnaty said, "so o' course they'd have it locked up tight. 'Sides, ain't like this explosive powder's anything ye'd need in a quick pinch - more like requersitionin' it out to any ships that pull inta port needin' a resupply - so it's not anyplace they'd need t' get inta 'cept at their own leisure." Observing Catrola as she jiggered at the lock with her fine tools, he added, "Be careful there, an' try not t' make any sparks if you can help it. If these really are th' stormpowder stores, we don't wanna set th' whole thing off by accident."

She paused in her labors to glare up at him. "You want this door open or not?"

"Um, aye. Jus' … be careful as y' can, right?"

It took longer than anyrat there would have liked - long enough, in fact, for the last of the prisoners to be freed back in the dungeons - but finally Catrola emerged victorious in her battle with the lock, and stood aside while Scarnaty and Rostand opened the gatelike door and stepped inside. "No lamps or lanterns," Scarnaty warned the others. "Naught with flame past this threshold - least not 'til we're ready."

"Then how'll we see?" complained Mattrick.

"We'll make do 'til our eyes adjust - shouldn't take too long, given how gloomy this entire unnerground lair is."

Their noses told them they'd found what they sought before their eyes did, the flinty, whisker-wrinkling odor assailing their nostrils and making them think their eyes were stinging, even if they really weren't. But once their vision did grow accustomed to the lower light levels within, their eyes went wide with what they beheld before them. The kegs and casks were stacked from floor to ceiling, in rows and aisles that receded and vanished back into the gloom. It was almost like some massive, overstocked wine cellar - except that these vessels, they knew, held contents considerably more potent than even the highest proof spirits.

"Gorrr," Rostand muttered in near-disbelief. "If even half these barrels're full … "

"I'm guessin' they'd not bother keepin' empty barrels down 'ere under lock an' key, an' guarded too." Scarnaty's own voice was rather small, faced as he was with the enormity of the destructive potential facing him now. "We hit pay dirt, fellas … mounds an' mounds of it. Guess this decides us on what t' do now, don't it?"

All the freed prisoners were brought up from the now-cleared dungeons, a few garbed in uniforms lifted from the fallen guards but most still unclothed; overall they numbered several score, half now armed with weapons from their slain captors or from the rescuers themselves. Most looked willing to fight in spite of their ordeal, although many clearly showed the infirmities of incarceration, malnourishment, neglect and abuse.

Except that now, Scarnaty had to convince them the time for fighting was not yet at paw.

With lookouts standing watch at the approaches to the stormpowder stores, Scarnaty addressed the newly-released prisoners. "Now, I know some o' ye are spoilin' fer battle, even if it's like t' getcher killed, but th' good news is, ye'll not hafta fight yer way up through this fort an' all its troops. There's another way out we c'n use - th' same way we got in - a' another way t' take care o' all those soldiers too, an' put 'em in their graves without crossin' blades ner spears with 'em."

"An' how's that?" demanded one of the freed rats skeptically.

"In this chamber b'hind me's enuff stormpowder t' supply half of Tratton's navy. I've seen what a single ship's measure of th' stuff can do when it goes off, so trust me when I say that if we light up all this here at once, not even Ballaster's heavy stones'll withstand th' blast. We'll be destroyin' Tratton's primary stockpile of his most powerful weapon, an' takin' out one o' his strongholds along with lots o' his troops in th' same blow - an' freein' all o' you in th' bargain. Not too bad a deal, wouldn'tja say?"

"If y' c'n pull it off," put in another of the liberated prisoners. "D'ya really think you c'n make it all work?"

Scarnaty's brow furrowed as his face darkened. "Oh, aye, we'll pull it off. Rostand, set up some fuses an' let's blow this rockpile!"

His co-leader hesitated at this command. "Uh, wasn't we s'posed t' wait fer Tropsa t' get in place t' blow any ships in the harbor, so we don't tip our paw 'fore he's ready? How'll we know whether he's had time t' do that?"

"Exactly. How'll we know? Answer is, we can't. Not stuck down here in this stoned-in gloom. We gotta act fer ourselves, do what we were sent here t' do an' leave it t' Tropsa to hold up his end. Fer all we know, he might fail in his own mission, be discovered 'fore he can sink the enemy ships an' seize the ironclad, mebbe even get 'imself killed or captured - which'd leave us sittin' around all night waitin' on blasts from th' harbor that never come. An' in case you'd fergot, there's a whole entire garrison o' armed an' trained searat soldiers sittin' right over our heads at this very moment - scores at least, mebbe hunnerds - who we've been very lucky we ain't stirred up yet, 'cos if we had we'd be cooked. More of 'em could venture down 'ere at any moment, so we gotta strike now, 'fore we're discovered."

This convinced Rostand and the others of the assault team, who set to work preparing the slow-burning fuse they'd brought along with them in a special watertight pouch. The prisoners, on the other paw, only grew more restive and demanding to be let in on the rescuers' strategy.

"An' how're we all s'posed t' get clear o' this ourselves, if it's gonna be such a cataclysm as you say?"

Even though they'd passed the refuse chute on their way from the dungeons to the powder room, most of the prisoners had not bothered to poke their heads into the unobtrusive alcove, and none had gotten a good look at the egress of escape. Now Scarnaty's mouth gave a wry twist. "Well, it'll take a bit t' get that fuse all in place an' lit anyways, so now's as good a time as any t' start the evacuation. Come along, then, an' I'll show you th' way outta this festerin' hole … tho' I'll warn you now, you'll all hafta make it thru one more festerin' hole that goes on a ways if y' wanna breathe free agin!"

 **THE** _ **DARKSKY**_

If there was one thing Antris couldn't stand, it was being roused from a deep slumber in the middle of the night.

As First Mate of the _Darksky_ , he'd grown accustomed lately to leading a far more leisurely lifestyle than he'd known on the high seas. With no sailing orders apparent anytime soon - and no orders of any other type currently in effect - Antris and the rest of the frigate's crew had fallen into a loose shore leave routine, even if it wasn't much of a shore leave with most of them restricted to the ship at any given time, out of deference to Her Majesty's presence on Talaga. Still, the lifting of any and all pressing responsibilities other than the general upkeep of the vessel herself had led to a lightening of the mood aboard the _Darksky_ to a far freer, more relaxed atmosphere than any known in recent seasons.

Thus did the urgent knocking at his cabin door in the depths of night come as an especially unwelcome intrusion into his dreams of sunny isles and ratmaids fair. Drawing himself out from under his bedcovers with a grumble and stumbling over to his door, he cracked it open and squinted out at the intruder with sleep-crusted eyes. "What?! An' this 'ad better be good!"

Gartley, the _Darksky_ 's bosun, apologetically scuffed his footpaws against the deck. "Um, real sorry t' disturb ye, sir, but we got a fleetrunner 'longside us."

Antris blinked and rubbed at his eyes. "Aye, we got two fleetrunners 'longside us - th' one that came in with us an' now Spymaster Uroza's too. What of it?"

"Uh, nay, sir. This's a third one that t'weren't there 'fore … an' she's actin' kinda odd, tucked up 'longside our starboard hull. Thought y' might wanna come have a look fer yerself, since it could be some kinda official business or sumpthin'."

Antris blinked some more. "What? She came in unner cover o' dark, an' now she's takin' a special int'rest in us, without even dockin' proper? Is she lookin' t' tie up to us 'stead of th' pier? Are they lookin' t' board?"

"Uh, ain't sure, sir. Yelled sumpthin' up t' us 'bout a special inspeckshun, but we couldn't make heads ner tails of it. That's why we felt we'd best come fetch you."

"Oh … okaaay." Antris grabbed his jacket hanging hanging on the back of the door and hastily donned it as he stomped out into the night in half a foul temper; when dealing with the spyrats of Uroza's Bureau, it was best to avoid a full foul temper, lest reports of noncooperation find their way back to the Spymaster himself. "Awright, let's go see what all this is about … an' they'd better not've got me outta bed fer nuthin'!"

 _ **FLEETRUNNER ELEVEN**_

Many eyes stared down at Tropsa now, and he didn't like it. Perhaps, in retrospect, it had been unrealistically naive to suppose he could bring _Fleetrunner Eleven_ into Talaga Harbor and right up alongside the _Darksky_ without attracting attention at all, but that was the only plan the rebels had, leaving him little choice but to stick with it and follow it through. Now, as several of his team strove to secure the stormpowder kegs to the exact spot on the hull Latura had instructed them to target - no easy feat, with both vessels bobbing and swaying on the gentle bay swells - Tropsa sought to allay any concerns or suspicions from the crew of the _Darksky_ above. That task grew more complicated with the arrival on the scene of the frigate's current ranking officer.

"'ey," Antris yelled down at them as he adjusted his jacket to make sure it sat right on his shoulders, "who're you, an' what're you doin' down there?"

"Cap'n Tropsa, of Spymaster Uroza's agency," Tropsa called back up in reply, falling into his lately-adopted-and-favored persona of a spyrat skipper and striking a pose showing far more confidence than he felt at the moment. "We're conductin' inspections, by direct order of His Majesty. Been some mishaps with stormpowder on other ships recently, an' we wanna make sure yer integrity's safe an' all that!"

"'is Majesty's orders, y' say? Then why didn't Spymaster Uroza 'imself say anything t' me 'bout any o' this when he arrived yesterday?"

Tropsa stiffened, a reaction thankfully unnoticed by the frigate's crew above. He nearly gave himself away, however, with his spoken reply. "Uroza's here? On Talaga?"

"Course he is. Whose second fleetrunner didja s'pose that was tied up across th' pier? An' why didn't you know that yerself already, if ye're an agent o' his?"

This was all catching Tropsa way too off guard for his liking. Struggling to think as fast as he could, he forced out, "We … we been at sea, doin' these inspections on ships of th' Fleet we come across. Kinda put us outta touch. We never got word Uroza was comin' this way. What's 'ee here fer, anyway?"

"Didn't tell any of us. Went right up to th' Queen an' Gov'ner's places t' consult with 'em. Been some talk he also met with those bloodthirsty birds 'bout sumpthin' or other, so what that's about is anyrat's guess."

"Birds? What birds?"

"Th' ones we been trainin' t' fight Urthblood's gulls. Didn't y' know about that either? Just how long _have_ you been at sea?"

"Um … too long, looks like." Tropsa turned to his crewmate Peerdegat and whispered, "Get a move on with those stormpowder kegs! This has taken a turn 'ere, an' it ain't fer th' better! We gotta blast this frigate 'fore they figger out we ain't who we say we are!"

"Why didn't Lattie warn us Uroza was here on Talaga?" Peerdegat worried.

"Mebbe she didn't foresee 'im. Mebbe she was too busy tellin' us 'bout th' Queen an' th' ironclad an' alla Urthblood's troops in Ballaster. Mebbe she jus' plain fergot. This is Lattie we're talkin' 'bout, after all."

"An' what was that bit about birds? They're trainin' birds as warriors now too?"

"Sounds like it … but never you mind that now," Tropsa hissed at Peerdegat. "Get those powderkegs set an' lit, an' do it fast, 'fore we're discovered."

"Too late fer that now," Peerdegat grumbled, returning his attention to the directing of the demolition crew.

"There a problem down there?" Antris called out, an edge of suspicion creeping into his voice, quickly replaced by one of apprehension. "You gonna be boardin' us, t' take a look at things from th' inside?"

Tropsa caught the note of anxiety in the First Mate's tone, and seized upon it. "Why, we might just hafta. Depends on what we find down 'ere. You sit tight up there fer now, an' we'll letcher know."

"Um, okay." Antris cocked an ear. "Hey, is that hammerin' I hear?" he asked, leaning over the starboard railing to try for a better look at what the fleetrunner was doing with his ship.

What he could not fully see, due to both the dark and the angle, was how several of the smaller boat's crew now nailed netting into place upon the frigate's hull, a securing web which would - Tropsa and the rebels hoped - hold the stormpowder casks up out of the water and keep them dry while their slow fuse burned down, giving the fleetrunner time to row clear before the warship blew. So much of this plan hinged upon everything going just right, and now it looked like nothing about any of this was going right. Discovered and engaged by the crew of the _Darksky_ , they would now have to try and pull this off right under their noses, and literally in front of their eyes, even as Tropsa struggled to bluff his way through their suspicions and misgivings. What he could really use was a diversion of some sort, but he knew with a cold certainty that none would be coming, unless by some chance Scarnaty's team really did manage to blow Fort Ballaster's powder stocks. Failing that, he was alone here, and his own success rested squarely on his shoulders and norat else's.

Or so he thought. Unbeknownst to him at that moment, Tropsa was about to get the diversion he might have wished for, and from a source most unexpected.

"So," Antris called down from his much higher deck, "how long y' been in Uroza's Bureau? Y' don't talk like any other spyrat I ever heard. Kinda refreshin', if I ain't outta place sayin' it, meetin' one o' you who talks more like th' rest of us, an' not so smooth or refined … "

"Um, well, it's been … "

Tropsa was spared further awkward fabrication by an interruption from another rat aboard the frigate, yelling for his commander's attention. "'ey, sir! We got another ship comin' inta the harbor, under full sail!"

"What kind?" Antris shot back, his inquiry into Tropsa's speech habits and tenure now forgotten. "Frigate, galleon … ?"

"Can't tell yet, sir. But t'weren't on any schedule, or any vessel we was informed t' expect."

"Hmm. Second one o' those this night." Antris shouted back down to the fleetrunner, "'ey, Cap'n Troppers, you know anything 'bout another ship landin' t'night?"

Since Tropsa truly didn't, he had no need to feign surprise on his own part. "Nay, 'tis news t' me. We was travellin' alone." After a pause, he added, with a tone of authority, "An' the name's Tropsa. Cap'n Tropsa."

"Oh, uh, aye, sir. Sorry, sir. But 'tis odd, two vessels comin' in unannounced an' unexpected, this time o' night."

An idea occurred to Tropsa. "Mebbe you should check it out, then."

"Me? I got th' _Darksky_ tied up at harbor. You'd be in a much better position t' investergate 'em then I would, Cap'n."

Tropsa gave a nod; that would work too. "Good idea. We'll get on that at once, then head back here t' finish up yer inspection, providin' that new ship's no kinda trouble that'll keep us."

Peerdegat took a moment from overseeing the placement of the stormpowder kegs to lean over to Tropsa. "Sir," he whispered, "we can't go out t' meet that new craft. What if she's another warship full o' Tratton's fighters?"

"Got no intention of goin' out t' meet 'er," Tropsa hissed back. "But it'll give us a good reason t' be makin' away from here, an' fast, once that fuse is lit. We'll not be goin' anywhere near that other ship - but she's givin' us a cover an' a diversion we didn't have before, so we owe 'er fer that, whoever she is."

Had Tropsa at that moment known the identity of this fortuitous intruder, he might not have been so quick to welcome her presence.

"Say, that sure is one funny-lookin' boat," he heard somerat say from up above on the _Darksky_. "Smaller'n a frigate or galleon, an' what's that big thing takin' up 'er middle deck? Looks like a big round stage or summat, almost … "

Tropsa stiffened just as he had earlier upon learning Uroza was on Talaga, his relief that that this new ship was not an enemy vessel tempered by severe misgivings over what their "shipkiller" was doing here at all, unexpected and unannounced.

"Sir," Peerdegat said with surprised concern, "that sounds almost like - "

"I know what it sounds like!" Tropsa cut him off. "Finish up here fast as y' can, an' then we'll go see why Cordato's changed th' game plan in th' middle of th' match an' sent that mouse in here after us!"

 **THE** _ **GOODWILL**_

Ramjohn had no intention of giving Tropsa or anybeast else an opportunity to waylay him, for explanations or for anything else.

The _Goodwill_ came charging into Talaga Bay under full sail, guided by her captain's firm paw on the wheel as her bow cut through the calm subtropical waters and sent up spumes of spray to mark her speed. Latura, perhaps sensing that action was near, hovered at the mouse captain's side, taking in her first nighttime glimpse of Talaga Village with wide eyes.

"Which one's th' place where th' Queen's stayin'?" Ramjohn asked.

She pointed to the Governor's mansion, directly in the middle of the hilltop crest overlooking the harbor. "There. Big house, right in the center. That's where Queenie is."

"Figures she'd claim th' biggest manse for herself. Hard t' see clear with no lights burnin' in the windows at this hour, but I reckon she's in range, if we can maneuver close enough to shore. How deep's th' water here, Lattie?"

"Huh? How should I know?"

"Well, I just … I kinda … since you know all manner o' … oh, never mind." Giving up on trying to figure out how Latura's seemingly-very-selective prophetic sight worked, Ramjohn looked to the weapons turntable amidships, its first treetrunk-sized timber arrow already loaded in its launching cradle, stormpowder keg lashed in place at the tip, fuse waiting to be lit. His crew knew what to do, once they were in position and he gave the order.

Of course, they'd need Latura for the fine-tuning of the ranging and aiming. Ramjohn had extensively reviewed with witnesses how the ratmaid had guided them thus in the tense confrontation with the _Gullslayer_ , asking to hear the story several times from several different participants in that engagement, and the mouse stood convinced that none of them would be able to make this superweapon work without Latura's oversight. In fact, Ramjohn largely suspected even Clucus himself could not have picked and delivered his shots to match Latura's uncanny accuracy.

Which meant she was crucial to the success of what he meant to do here, and he'd not be able to do it without her.

Steering the _Goodwill_ toward the inner harbor, he soon drew abreast of the pier and all the vessels docked there, some of whose crewrats now looked on in bafflement at this bizarre craft which seemed to be a ship of the Fleet - it was hard to make out the exact colors of the sails in the darkness - and yet bore no recognizable configuration of any searat warship, or of any other vessel making logical sense. Ramjohn took great care not to pass too close to the dock, wary of any interference which might come from that quarter, but at the same time the positioning he required to take his intended shots left him little choice but to brush by the moored searat vessels fairly closely. He would just have to hope that their surprise at his appearance would leave them all too stymied to raise a paw against him - at least until he'd announced his intentions in most dramatic fashion, at which time he expected all Hellgates to break loose.

Assuming that the gentle downward slope of the white beach would continue beneath the water, Ramjohn invoked his best nautical instincts to tell hm where to make his turn. Drawing as close to the shore as he dared, he gave the wheel a hard spin to send the _Goodwill_ veering sharply to port and, sure enough, he both heard and felt the light scraping of keel against the sandy bottom. But this too he had factored into his strategy, knowing that the tide was still on the rise, and would lift him even if he came close to grounding himself here.

Now parallel to the shore at the nearest attainable point to dry land, progress slowed to a crawl by the turn out of the wind and the friction of the bay floor against the hull, Ramjohn shouted out for sails to be trimmed and anchor to be dropped to hold them to their current position. He was exactly where he wanted to be; now to see if he could make this near-mutinous gamble pay off.

Turning to Latura as the _Goodwill_ ground to a halt, Ramjohn again pointed to the darkened Governor's mansion. "Will we be able to hit that from here?"

The ratmaid seemed to consider for a few moments, perhaps performing prophetic mathematical calculations in her head, then nodded. "Oh, aye. Hafta aim higher'n we did with that other ship we kill't, an' crank th' rope back tighter, but yeah, it'll reach."

"Good." Ramjohn glanced out toward the dock and, more specifically, the _Darksky_ , farther away now then when he'd passed her but still too close for his liking. In one sense, he was grateful he'd arrived before Tropsa could detonate the frigate, since a calamity on that scale would not only have awakened the Queen but might also have sent her scurrying to some safer quarters out of his range. Then again, arriving here before any explosion could very well put the _Goodwill_ in harm's way. Ramjohn had never witnessed with his own eyes the eruption of a searat warship when her stormpowder magazine blew, but he remembered being a prisoner down in the hold of his own vessel when the blast of the _Gullslayer_ had tilted the ship around him at a crazy forty-five degree angle and the thunder had torn at his eardrums even through the wood hull separating him from the outside world. If the _Darksky_ were to blow at this very moment, he supposed he'd be safe - but his confidence in the matter was by no means absolute.

He just hoped the blast wouldn't come in the middle of his aiming and firing, making his shot go wide or fall short; he only had five of the giant arrows in his entire arsenal, and even under perfect launching conditions there was no guarantee every one would find its mark, not even with Latura overseeing their efforts.

Then again, there was no guarantee either that Tropsa would even succeed at all in his own mission - in which case, Ramjohn knew he'd have to keep one timber arrow in reserve for the _Darksky_ , because if Tropsa failed, the _Goodwill_ would be the only thing standing in the way of that frigate and ironclad hunting them down and destroying them all.

"Y' sure ye're s'posed t' be doin' this, Cap'n Mousey?" Latura asked again. "Ain't so sure we are."

"You just tell us how to get our shots aimed 'n' off, Lattie, an' don't worry your head about th' rest. I'm Captain here, so just do what I says an' let it fall to me."

The ratmaid regarded Ramjohn in the dark in her simple, genuine way. "Actin' more like a pushy, bossy meanrat than a mouse … "

Ramjohn scowled at her, then yelled past her, "All paws on th' weapon cranks! Prepare for firing!"

With the _Goodwill_ now at rest, her crew rushed from anchor and sail to take up positions on the weapons platform, paws on winch handles to await more specific instructions. Ramjohn hustled Latura over to the turntable, then barked, "Okay, tell us what we gotta do to land a stormpowder keg square in the midst of that manse up there!"

"Um … okay, if y' say so … " She turned to the waiting crewrats. "Okay, turn this thing 'round just a skootch that way … okay, that's good! Now lift 'er up a bit … a bit more … bit more … too much, now down a bit … right there! Now, crank that firin' rope back 'til it's taut an' a half … keep goin' … keep goin' … 'kay, that should be enuff!" She turned to Ramjohn. "All ready fer shootin', Cap'n Mousey!"

"You sure?" the mouse asked.

"Well, yeah, sure 's I can be."

"Guess that'll hafta do. Get that fuse lit!"

Having learned their lesson from the narrowly-averted disaster during their clash with the _Gullslayer_ , Ramjohn's crew knew to have a lit lantern at the ready for the fuse-lightings. One of those rats now hastened to the edge of the turntable, climbed up onto the vast arrow and shimmied along to its tip overhanging the calm bay waters where the stormpowder keg was tied in place. Opening the lamp to expose the naked flame, he held it to the fuse and set the short strand to sparking life. Satisfied it had caught, he turned around and flung himself back down onto the turntable and thence rolled right off it onto the main ship's deck to get out of the way.

"Clear!" Ramjohn roared, a final warning to anyrat in the path of arrow or rope. Then, mere moments later, "Fire!"

This time, the release lever was thrust home not by Latura herself but by another rat of the crew appointed to that particular responsibility beforepaw. The extra tension in the specially-treated, elastic launching rope made the entire deck sway and rock slightly with the recoil as the timber-sized projectile hurtled from its elevated cradle and flew over the water, over the bayfront concourse and seawall, and over the first few rows of homesteads with their rustic, winding lanes to ram squarely into the seaward face of the prominent Governor's mansion, sitting atop the hillside overlooking it all.

The keg exploded on impact, but this time, without any stormpowder magazine to ignite, the blast was far more modest than what the rebels had become accustomed to meting out. Nevertheless, the first shot succeeded in blowing a respectable hole in the second floor wall, obliterating a pair of windows and collapsing a section of the roof. Before the smoke had even cleared enough to reveal the extent of this smoldering structural damage, Ramjohn was exhorting his crew onward.

"Hurry up! Get that next arrow in place an' loaded for our second shot! Be quick about it, 'fore any survivors can scramble an' get clear o' the wreckage! We gotta bring that whole place down around their ears - theirs an' their Queen's!"

That very Queen had been rudely awakened by this opening salvo, and she was far from the only one; all throughout Talaga Village rats stirred and came awake at this thunderous clap in their midst, while those already up and about had their attention drawn to the ruin which had just been visited upon their female sovereign's current dwelling, and the impossible ship in their harbor which had delivered that blow and even now prepared for another. On the _Darksky_ , First Mate Antris and the rest of his crew lined up along the port railing in mystified, shocked disbelief at what they were seeing.

And out beyond that frigate, now forgotten by the _Darksky_ 's crew in light of this bolt out of the blue, a much smaller craft now made her way around the end of the dock and back toward shore, her own crew of saboteurs intent upon rendezvousing with the Goodwill to see why the vengeful mouse captain had made this unexpected and destructive appearance.

 **THE GOVERNOR'S MANSION**

Regelline was fairly yanked from her slumbers by the thunder and fire, coming rudely awake halfway between her bed and the floor. Hitting the carpeted surface with an undignified thud, she sat blinking in confusion as the echoes of the blast rang in her ears along with the comparatively subdued complaints of splintering and shatterings from the besieged structure around her. This position proved providential when a section of the wall, or perhaps it was the ceiling, came crashing down upon the bed she'd occupied but a moment before. The Searat Queen instantly ducked with paws over her head as the raised sleeping platform caught the falling debris and held it at an ungainly angle, saving Regelline from all harm save some scraped knuckles.

As she knelt there, crouched beneath the propped-up wreckage which had come so close to snuffing out her life, dust and smoke choked her throat and nostrils and stung at her eyes. Forcing herself to think, she knew that before she tried to move or go anywhere, she would first have to try to figure out exactly what was going on so as to not go blindly rushing into the maws of danger … but she also knew equally well that to hunker down in one place for too long could just as easily spell her doom. Before she could do anything, she needed to know more, to figure out if she could just what had happened here.

Of one thing she was fairly certain: the tangy, acrid odor assailing her snout now was more than just woodsmoke and plaster dust. She recognized that aroma from weapons tests she'd witnessed on Terramort, as surely as she knew what the source of such artificial thunder must be, and the only thing that could have brought part of the Governor's mansion down around her head.

Stormpowder. Somebeast had attacked her with stormpowder.

But who? And why?

Cogs in her head began to turn ever so sluggishly toward one likely solution, but she forced herself to suppress such suspicions for the moment; immediately before her lay survival, or death. And her choice of actions here might well decide what her fate this night would be.

But still, she needed to know more, before all else.

Creeping cautiously out from under the structural damage sprawled across her bed, looking up and straining her ears to determine as best she could that no more of the mansion was about to come crashing down on her while also glancing all around for signs of any other dangers, she picked her way not to the room's door but instead to the windows overlooking the bay.

Those picture windows now stood shattered along with most of their frames, opening up much of the bedchamber to the night air. Broken glass underpaw reminded her to step very lightly here if she didn't want to suffer badly lacerated toes and soles, which would hardly put her in good stead to face any further challenges this night held. But, since she needed more information, she forced herself to go on.

The very first thing Regelline observed was that the balcony out here had, like her own sleeping quarters, partially collapsed, leaving a two-story drop to the ground below. Backing up a step in case this outer edge of the floor picked that moment to give way under her, she added this to her quickly-growing mental list of practical knowledge.

 _Well, I won't be getting out that way._

Shifting her focus to what lay well beyond the ruined windows, she scanned the shoreline and the bay waters past the beach. Sure enough, a vessel lay at rest parallel to the tideline, in just the required position to launch a surprise salvo and within easy catapult range …

No, on closer examination, they were probably too close to have used a catapult. Nor was any such war engine visible upon her deck. Instead, there was …

An icy claw of dread gripped Regelline's heart, and her gaze shot elsewhere. The crew of the _Darksky_ aboard their frigate seemed in a shocked uproar over what had happened, suggesting that they at least were not part of any conspiracy against her. This conclusion comforted her little, since they were all stuck on their ship and the dock to which they were tied, whereas the attacking vessel …

She returned her full attention to the mystery aggressor. Smaller than any frigate or even any galleon, her crew now clambered over the contraption taking up most of the middle deck, wrestling what seemed a long, straight treetrunk into place within some manner of bracing, so that it was aimed directly at her.

Even in the dark, Regelline recognized that preposterous device out of a ferret's warped dreams. She recognized it because she had seen it perched upon the northern promontory of Terramort's plateau, had even seen it tested, and thus knew its capabilities.

This was Clucus's invention. Clucus was attacking her with a weapon of his own making.

But no, that could not be right. The ferret was only a weaponsmaster, not any sort of strategist, and certainly nobeast who would seek to stage any kind of power grab for his own ends. If he was here doing this, he was doing it under orders.

 _Uroza._

Why had the Spymaster chosen now of all times to come to Talaga? And now this …. It could not be coincidence. It was all clear in her mind now. Uroza meant to destroy her, either on his own initiative or by order of Tratton himself. There could be no other explanation.

She never stopped to consider, there in the mentally tumultuous respite between the first shot and the second, why Uroza might choose such a spectacularly open and obvious method of assassination, so at odds with his far more subtle preferred approaches, and one likely to bring about additional casualties. For in her mind it could be naught else but an assassination attempt, and one targeted directly at her - and there were only two rats in the entire Empire who would dare such a thing at all, much less with a new type of war engine she herself had observed in the landbound phase of its trials. And one of those rats was right here on Talaga, had spoken with her that very afternoon.

That was it. That had to be it. Uroza must have had this weapon ship shadow him here, held offshore and out of sight until ready to perform this murderous midnight treachery. Uroza wanted her dead, and had made sure to be on paw himself to see to it that the job was done right.

But it was not done yet. She was still alive, and intended to remain that way.

A pounding came to her door then, not the delicate and respectful knock of paw against wood but a much heavier buffeting suggestive of frantic desperation. It occurred to Regelline only then that the destruction visited upon the structure around her might have jammed her door shut, leaving her no easy way out of the bedchamber. She supposed any rescuer would be able to find an axe or sledgehammer to smash their way in, but even as she turned to see if she could help get the door open from her side, another possibility froze her in place. What if this was not a rescuer, but one of the conspirators come to murder her, to make sure the job was finished properly? If Uroza truly was overseeing all of this, he could very well have sent agents into the mansion as well as attacking it from without, perhaps to use the confusion of the attack from the bay as cover to eliminate her in a more conventional manner after all. Thus did she hover near the destroyed windows, her only escape route left to her in such an eventuality. The drop to the ground below would be an inconvenience, perhaps even a bone-breaking one, but if it proved the only way to avoid the assassin's paw and buy herself a few extra moments of life to look for allies or other routes of escape, she would take it in a instant.

All these thoughts flashed through her mind in mere heartbeats, and no sooner had she finished thinking them than the door burst in under protest from its skewed frame, and there within the open portal stood Trushar, glancing frantically around the partially-ruined chamber. Regelline relaxed in relief, confident in her own mind that her faithful and long-serving personal guard could not be part of any plans against her, for if he was, then all was truly lost.

"Majesty!" Spotting her, Trushar began to enter the room, but Regelline stopped him with an upraised paw.

"Hold there! This floor may not be stable enough to support us both. I will cross to you." Picking her way across the glass-and-debris-strewn floor with only a few minor nuisance cuts to her paws, she joined Trushar at his side and they withdrew into the less-battered hallway beyond.

"Majesty, are you all right? Are you injured at all?" Trushar began to inspect her as if she were still in shock and helpless, but she slapped his paws away.

"Just scrapes and bruises, by some miracle. What shape is the rest of the mansion in? Where's Harmata?"

"Harmata … is dead, Your Majesty. Her room took the direct hit. Does the enemy use catapults against us? And stormpowder?"

"Stormpowder, yes, but not a catapult." Mindful of the second shot she'd seen being loaded into Clucus's war engine and the short window with which they had to work before another blast hit the mansion, Regelline nevertheless spared a moment of reflection over her pawmaid's loss. One of the very few rats in all the world she would trust with her very life, now gone. That would make getting through the rest of this night more difficult. Fortunately, she still had at her side another ally she could trust completely, and that would have to do.

Trushar took her by the arm. "We've got to get you out of here, to safety … "

She shook him off. "What of the Prince?"

"I … " Trushar looked abashed. "I haven't checked, Your Majesty."

"We're not leaving without him". _If he still lives_ , she morbidly added to herself. _Or, even if he does, if we can all evacuate in time …_

Fortunately, the nursery lay on the other side of Regelline's bedchamber from Harmata's demolished quarters, farther from the blast damage, and they entered to find the room largely intact and little Rupart squalling in distress within his crib. Regelline raced over to him, scooped him up to clutch him closely to her breast and turned to leave, even as distant shouts and cries from outside told her she may have tarried here moments too long.

Acting on instinct, she knelt down into a huddled crouch, shielding the future of the Empire with her body as another bright flash and bone-jarring concussion tore apart the night along with more of the Governor's mansion. She was only dimly aware of Trushar throwing himself over her to protect both his Queen and Prince with his own body before, for the second time that night, part of the roof came crashing down on top of her.


	75. Chapter LXXIV

**LXXIV.**

 **THE HARBORMASTER'S RESIDENCE**

Uroza had just finished appraising a bleary-eyed Voccola of the slave rebellion when Ramjohn's first shot found its mark, the explosion shaking the windows and furnishings of the Harbormaster's residence like an all-too-close lightning strike. The two of them rushed out past their very concerned and confused host Rovtar, who'd been excluded from their private debriefing on a need-to-know basis, and exited onto the front steps of the residence into a night most drastically changed. Close enough to the harbor to see and hear that the crew of the _Darksky_ was in an uproar, Uroza let his gaze travel from the moored frigate to the anchored _Goodwill_ , her positioning and configuration cluing him in to the rebel's strategy even before his eyes followed the presumed flight path up to the now-struck and partly smoldering Governor's mansion.

The Spymaster's gaze darted back to the bay, where he now noticed a much smaller craft closing in on the stolen weaponship, and Uroza could tell at a glance that it wasn't either of the fleetrunners tied up at the dock. So, there was half the rebel fleet right here in Talaga Bay - but where were the _Redfoam_ and the cargo hauler? What else were they up to?

Voccola, not nearly so swift at putting the pieces together, stood staring wide-eyed with mouth working wordlessly. "What … what's goin' on?" he finally managed to force out.

"The rebel slaves," Uroza replied almost absently, as if the fact should be so obvious he didn't need to voice the thought aloud. "They're attacking."

"What?! Impossible! No rebel force would dare attack Talaga!"

"Look down there, Governor, and you'll see that is precisely what they are doing. I warned you what they could do with this new weapon of Clucus's, although never did it occur to me they might think to use it against a land target. We waited too long to mobilize against them, and now they strike first." He looked to the Governor's mansion. "The Queen. They seek to destroy the Queen."

"But … how could they know the Queen is even on Talaga, if they're just rebel slaves?" Voccola asked, still racing to catch up in his own mind.

"How indeed?"

"Don't it make sense they're goin' after the Gov'ner's mansion 'cos they think _I'm_ in there? Take out the head of the island?"

"Based on all they've done so far, I am giving them far more credit than that. Be that as it may, the Queen is the one occupying the mansion now, whether she's their intended target or not, and her life is in peril … and this attack is not over yet." Uroza pointed down at the _Goodwill_. "Even now, they prepare for another shot."

Voccola blanched and trembled, although only the latter was visible in the darkness. "They could utterly demolish the mansion! An' then do th' same to all of the village!"

"No they can't. The _Seabolt_ left Terramort with a total of just six arrows, and they used at least one of those to sink the _Gullslayer_ , so they can't have more than four left. And it looks like they still mean to target the Governor's mansion with their follow-up launch as well. The Queen is all that matters now - her and the Prince. They must be saved at all costs, if it can at all be managed."

Voccola took in the partly-shattered mansion, dim fires from the second-story impact site lending a ghostly orange glow to the mild night. "Th' Queen … she might already lie slain 'mongst that … or if not now, mebbe from th' next shot."

Uroza glared at the Governor. "If she doesn't, and she survives this night, would you like me to tell her you said that?"

He could almost hear Voccola's throat going dry.

"The rebels still have two more ships unaccounted for, and who can say how many fighters? They might try to follow this up with a land assault, either here at the harbor or elsewhere on Talaga. Governor, run to Fort Ballaster as fast as you can and tell Captain Margate to muster his full forces for immediate deployment and engagement." By this time Rovtar had joined them out on the open porch. "Harbormaster, get down to the pier and tell the crew of the _Darksky_ to abandon ship with all speed, and to assemble on shore to await further orders, from either me or Margate."

"But, Spymaster sir," Voccola said, "we could use th' _Darksky_ t' cut off that enemy ship's escape, mebbe even sink 'er with a catapult salvo. Why abandon 'er?"

"Because I'm guessing the rebels will save one of their stormpowder arrows for the _Darksky_ \- and I'm betting, given their history of successes against us, that they will not miss. We need living fighters on shore to hold Talaga, not dead sailors going down with a doomed frigate. Now, what are you still doing here, and not on your way to Fort Ballaster?"

It took mere moments for this stinging recrimination to register. "Uh, aye, Spymaster!" Voccola spun and raced away along the path leading to the fortress perched on Talaga's northern shore cliffs. Needing no further enjoinder of his own, Harbormaster Rovtar likewise turned and sprinted down toward the harbor to relay Uroza's orders to the crew of the _Darksky_.

Now left to himself, Uroza started toward the Governor's mansion to see how the situation there with the Queen and the Prince might be salvaged, if at all. He'd gotten no more than half a dozen paces when a large, fluttery figure came skip-flapping out of the night to stand before him; it would seem the cormorant chieftain had tarried near the village, not wanting to fly back to his side of the isle in the dark.

"Enemyrats not wait for us, bring attack to you in blacknight. Most tricky!"

"Yes, they moved sooner than we expected." Uroza pointed down at the _Goodwill_. "That ship there - the one with the big wheel that shoots giant arrows - I need you to fly down to her and harass the crew any way you can, disrupt their activities."

Grabbrack looked at Uroza askance. "Cormorants not fly at night."

"You've already flown once tonight, to bring me your report, for which I am grateful. Now I need you to fly again, to strike at the enemy!" The Spymaster tried to inject a tone of enthusiasm into the last part, to entice the bloodthirsty bird.

But Grabbrack didn't bite. "Not fly at night into _battle_. Not fly at night into battle _alone_. Grabbrack not crazybird."

"The Queen is under attack."

Grabbrack was silent for many moments. "Rats killing rats, maybe is good thing. Maybe I just stand back, and watch, and laugh."

"King Tratton would be greatly displeased to hear you say such a thing."

"Kingrat not here. Just you. Grabbrack not fly, not attack. Cannot make me."

A dangerous undercurrent to the cormorant's tone had Uroza half-reaching for his dagger in case the seabird decided to abandon their alliance altogether and try to attack him. Before the tensions between them could grow further, however, shouts from along the shore drew the Spymaster's attention, along with the otherworldly thrum of the world's largest bowstring being released. Uroza knew what sight would greet his eyes even before he turned his head, and sure enough he reoriented his gaze just in time to see the second massive arrow slam into the Governor's mansion, its powderkeg tip exploding on impact to shatter and collapse another section of the weakened structure.

"Queenrat in trouble. Grabbrack think may not survive night."

Seeing no point in further engaging the stubborn cormorant, Uroza ducked around him and set off at a jog toward the damaged Governor's residence. He knew the rebels only had one more shot at the mansion, or two at most, and once the fusillade ended, he wanted to be on paw to see if anything at all could be salvaged from the wreckage - namely, the Queen and the Prince, preferably both alive.

Grabbrack watched him go, an air of satisfaction playing about his bill as he regarded the ruination being visited upon his enemies-turned-allies. "Yes. May be very good night for Grabbrack's flock."

 **FORT BALLASTER**

In the lower levels of Fort Ballaster, Rostand and Scarnaty paused in their efforts to get the freed prisoners down the refuse chute when a muffled boom and slight vibration reached them.

"That's it," Scarnaty said, looking to his fellow assault team leader. "Cap'n Tropsa must be startin' t' blow th' ships in the harbor."

Rostand, remembering the positively cataclysmic and earthshaking detonations of both the _Skyburn_ and the _Gullslayer_ , returned Scarnaty's gaze with a dubious expression. "You sure, Scars mate? Didn't seem loud or powerful enuff t' be a ship to me."

"Well, what else could it've been?"

"Dunno. Thunder, mebbe?"

"T'weren't no sign o' clouds or storm when we sailed here from th' _Redfoam_."

"Aye, but these're warmer, milder climes than most o' Tratton's isles an' sea lanes. Storms can gather quicker in such latitudes. Mebbe one blew up while we been busy in here. It's taken us awhile, pickin' all those locks an' freein' all these pris'ners."

"Didn't sound ner feel like thunder t' me. 'Sides, we're unnerground, with thick stone walls all around us. Hardly surprisin' they'd muffle th' sound, is it? We been waitin' t' hear some booms, an' now we heard one, so I'm gonna take it fer what it's gotta be. You stay here an' see t' gettin' th' rest of this lot down an' outta this place while I go see t' gettin' a slow fuse lit in that stormpowder room. Now that Tropsa's blastin' any searat vessels he's gotta take care of, he'll be countin' on us t' create a big diversion here an' take out as many of Ballaster's fighters as we can so he'll be free t' snatch that steel ship fer us."

"Aye, matey, will do. You light 'er up real good, an' I'll see you agin down on th' rocks outside!"

While Rostand oversaw the remainder of the evacuation, Scarnaty hastened back to the stormpowder stockroom to see to the final part of their mission. Grabbing one of the sparse lanterns off the corridor walls, he stepped into the incendiary arsenal to see how the placement of the fuse was going. There he found the two members of his team with the best fire-tending skills bent over one of the larger stormpowder kegs standing up on its end and being used like a table, but their attention was focused instead on a lamp of their own that they'd also taken from the outer passage to work by, and their faces reflected in that wan light were not happy ones.

"We got a problem."

Scarnaty regarded the speaker. "Don't tell me that, matey."

The rat Satrohan opened up the glass of the lantern to reveal its interior; a pale greenish light emanated from within, not the eye-wincing dance of flickering yellow that should have cut through the gloom but something far different.

"No open flame," Satrohan said. "Just some green, glowy stuff. No way t' light our fuse off with this."

Scarnaty rubbed at his chin. "Aye, makes sense they'd not want fire down 'ere where they keep all th' stormpowder. Knew th' place looked diff'rent from when I last served 'ere, darker an' dimmer somehow, but couldn't put my paw on it. They musta made th' change over t' flameless lamps after I got put aboard th' _Redfoam_. Then again, th' stormpowder was still kinda new back then, so they couldn'ta had near as much as they got here now .. "

"Uh, but back to our problem … " Satrohan prompted.

"Well, you got flint 'n' tinder on you, don't ye? We came here assumin' there might not be any lamps we could use t'all, an' we'd hafta get it all done on our own … "

"Aye, but that'll take longer, an' it'll be more dangerous. More chance of a stray spark catchin' sumpthing it ain't s'posed to, an' sendin' this whole place up."

"Then be careful - an' get on it. We'll just hafta make do with - " Scarnaty stopped in mid-sentence as the second faint boom and shudder of the night reached him. "Sounds like Tropsa's gone an' lit off another ship. But … "

The two munitions rats cocked their heads in puzzlement along with Scarnaty. Satrohan's partner, a female with lamplighting experience named Renetta, said, "Aye, we heard th' first blast a short time ago, 'fore you got here. How many ships y' reckon Tropsa'll hafta blow?"

"Right about now I'm wond'rin' whether he'll get t' blow any," Scarnaty muttered. "I think Rostand may've been right - those blasts ain't big 'nuff to be any galleon or frigate goin' up. But it def'nitely ain't thunder neither. Sumpthin's gone wrong. Somebeast's usin' stormpowder, an' it an't us!"

Mattrick's head appeared in the doorway. "Heads up in there! Big mob o' guards headin' this way, an' looks like summat's got 'em riled up good. Don't think it's us, so we might still have a chance t' make a clean break fer it, if we move fast - "

"Hey, you down there!' echoed a distant voice from behind the lookout. "Whaddya doin' in th' stormpowder stores?"

"Or, mebbe not," Mattrick amended with fatalistic acceptance.

"Get in here, an' help us bar th' door!" Scarnaty snapped. "If they're usin' stormpowder 'gainst our mates, we can at least stop 'em from gettin' any more t' use, at the very least."

Moments later the four infiltrators had the door shut and were rolling stormpowder kegs in front of it as fast as they could to barricade themselves inside. By the time the first heavy poundings upon the door came, accompanied by shouted threats and orders, the fort guards found their way into their own explosive armory blocked by a barrier they'd not breach without axes and sledgehammers.

"Open up in there, in th' name o' King Tratton!" came a gruffly muffled command through the heavy door.

"His name carries no weight with us!" Scarnaty yelled back as he muscled another barrel into place to fortify their makeshift bulwark. "Now back off an' don't try 'n' force yer way in, or we'll set flame t' this powder in here, an' blast us all sky high!"

This threat made the fortress guards go momentarily silent, but then their spokesrat countered, "Ye wouldn't! Ye'd be blowin' yerselves up as well!"

"Mebbe that's a price we're willin' t' pay - an' mebbe it's a quicker 'n' kinder end than we'd meet if we gave ourselves over t' _you_."

This quieted the guards for much longer.

"That seems to've put 'em in their place," Mattrick grunted as he helped Scarnaty add to their defensive barrier while Satrohan and Renatta regarded their now-produced flint and tinder with ill ease. "Reckon they've figgered out yet we sprang all th' pris'ners?"

"If they ain't yet, they soon will," Scarnaty said. "Those bodies we left lyin' around'll tip 'em off 'fore anything else. Which is why we gotta keep 'em tied up an' bogged down 'ere fer as long as we can. Give all the others time t' get down that hole an' clear outta Fort Ballaster alt'gether."

"An' then what?"

Scarnaty had no immediate answer, yet the only real possibility hung over the four of them, spoken by none but realized by all.

The guard in the corridor beyond decided to pick up their shouted conversation once more. "Who are you? What're ya doin' in Fort Ballaster? What do you want?"

"Want?" Mattrick murmured. "Does 'ee actshully think we mean t' negotiate with 'em?"

"If that's what 'ee's expectin', let's play along, an' see how much time we c'n buy." Scarnaty raised his voice to address their would-be captors. "Okay, we'll give you our terms … but not t' you. Get yer commander down here - I'll only parley with th' head rat at Ballaster!"

"You don't get t' say who you talk to, traitor!"

"What's that y' say? Flame's gettin' pretty close to this powder in here … "

This silenced the searats outside for the longest spell yet.

Mattrick gave Scarnaty a searching look. "We ain't gettin' outta this, are we?"

"Naw, I'd say we ain't." He glanced back at their two companions. "Best get started on lightin' that fuse back there. If this's our night t' leave this world, might as well go out with a bang, an' see how much of this place we c'n take with us!"

 **TALAGA HARBOR**

 _Fleetrunner Eleven_ drew up to the _Goodwill_ even as Ramjohn's crew got off their second shot at the Governor's mansion and began getting the third projectile into place for launching. Tropsa lightly bumped the prow of his small spycraft against the port hull of the weaponship to announce his presence and attract the attention of the rats aboard the larger vessel, then maneuvered to lie abreast of the former trader ship.

"Ahoy up there!" the mock spy captain called up. "Mouse, what in th' name o' storm-tossed seas're ya doin'?"

Ramjohn's head appeared over the side to peer down at Tropsa. "What's it look like I'm doin'? We're takin' out th' Queen, right where she lives!"

"I wasn't told about that!"

"Cordato took me aside after our meeting, gave me special secret orders, This way, even if we can't blow that frigate or take the ironclad, we'll still do 'em damage that'll hurt 'em to their core!"

"Secret orders? He still shoulda told _me_! Coulda upset my plans, havin' you sail right inta th' harbor unexpected like that!"

"Well, did it?" Ramjohn challenged. "Didja get done what ya hadta?"

"Aye, just barely." In his current pique, Tropsa wasn't about to reveal that Ramjohn's surprise arrival might actually have helped his cause, providing a much-needed distraction to divert the attention of the _Darksky_ 's crew from the suspicious activities of the saboteurs or the lethal gift they'd left nailed to the frigate's hull. "We got th' stormpowder keg in place an' its fuse lit, so unless they discovered it an' pulled th' fuse, we should be gettin' quite a show any moment now."

"You don't think they caught on that you weren't who you claimed t' be?" the mouse pressed.

"You'd hafta ask them, wouldn't ya? But even cap'ns of the Fleet'll think twice 'fore second-guessin' or questionin' one o' Uroza's head spies, so I think I got 'em intimerdated an' cowed enuff not t' go pokin' around at what we left 'em." He added to himself in a much lower voice, "Least I hope so."

"All works out then, doesn't it?" Ramjohn said in a tone conveying that the entire matter was settled in his eyes. Behind him, his crew finished getting the giant arrow seated in its cradle, then scrambled to winch the launching rope back to full tension. The mouse glanced across to the _Darksky_. "Hope you didn't make that fuse _too_ long; looks like they're making their catapults ready for action. Not t' worry, tho' - I'm savin' an arrow for them, in case you don't hold up your end of this mission."

"I did my part!" Tropsa protested. "An' I still don't see why Cordato didn't clue me inta any o' this, or gave you leave t' use up all yer arrows on th' Queen! What're we s'posed t' do now if any more warships show up?"

"Don't worry, I got that all figgered out. Now if you'll excuse me, I got a Rat Queen t' finish killin'. You look to yourself, an' stand ready to grab that ironclad … and if your keg fizzles an' fails, you'll be mighty glad I'm on paw t' take out that frigate for you!"

Tropsa could only stand on his fleetrunner's deck and glower, knowing Ramjohn was right about that much. They could only wait now to see whether they were successful at detonating the _Darksky_ 's powder magazine, and if that subterfuge failed to produce the desired results, it would fall to the _Goodwill_ to take care of the warship.

If the _Darksky_ 's catapults didn't sink the _Goodwill_ first.

Latura stuck her head out over the railing and looked down at Tropsa even as Ramjohn withdrew to oversee his last landward shot. "Oh, hullo, pretend darkrat!"

The ratmaid's presence didn't strike Tropsa as odd, since Ramjohn would obviously need her to help with the aiming, just as Cordato had in their confrontation with the _Gullslayer_. But then it occurred to him that he remembered the mouse captain insisting on taking Latura on to his "shipkiller," having to explain his reasoning even to Cordato - but why would Ramjohn have needed to do that, if Cordato had had it in mind to assign the _Goodwill_ to this Queen-assassination mission in the first place?

"Hey, Lattie, did Cordato order this run ye're on now?"

"Oh, aye, Cap'n Mousey sez 'ee did, tho' I didn't hear 'im do that, an' can't figger when he woulda. But Mousey sez it happened, so guess it did. Musta snoozed through it!"

Tropsa's jaw worked in silent, contemplative consternation. None of this added up, and after what Lattie had just said … A dangerous suspicion hardened in his mind, and he at last found his voice. "Hey, mouse, get yer tail back over - "

The mock spyrat found his next utterance doubly silenced, first by the bone-jarring, eardrum-tearing blast from the _Darksky_ , followed a heartbeat later by the much softer but much nearer thrum of the giant crossbow releasing up above him. The concussion from the explosion at the dock drove him to the deck of _Fleetrunner Eleven_ , which swayed and rocked beneath him even as it collided with the hull of the _Goodwill_. But that modified trader ship was also in motion, buffeted herself by the same blast wave, and so the impact between vessels wasn't enough to damage either craft.

Tropsa knew to stay down, that his proximity to the fragmented frigate would send a shower of debris his way, and that he'd be lucky to be spared a direct and debilitating hit by the low cabin structure of his fleetrunner, rising not much higher than his own prone body. Covering his head with his arms, he tensed for the expected onslaught of flying and falling wreckage, hoping he'd emerge as unscathed as possible.

What hit him next was both far heavier and far softer than anything he'd anticipated. Leading the life of a searat as he had, Tropsa had been through enough fights and scuffles and other presses of body-to-body contact to recognize the impact of another rat against him. And while this rat was hardly a heavyweight, she was still enough to drive the wind from him and raise bruises under his fur where bone met bone.

"Oof!" Tropsa expelled as Latura, fallen from the _Goodwill_ 's deck above, landed squarely atop him.

"Oof!" the ratmaid chuffed as she glanced off Tropsa, tumbled across the small deck and rolled right off it into the bay waters below, where she immediately threw up a panicked splashing.

Tropsa knew precisely which rat had characteristically lost her footing and fallen from the weaponship with such excessive clumsiness that she would bounce off a second vessel and pitch right into the sea. And while he desperately wanted to lay where he was for a few moments to catch his driven-out breath, he knew he'd not have that luxury.

"Oh rot - bet she can't swim … " Tropsa knew the harbor here couldn't be that deep, but it was deep enough for Ramjohn to have maneuvered the _Goodwill_ to this point, which meant it was also plenty deep enough to drown a bumbling fool of a ratmaid, prophetic powers or not. Forcing himself to his footpaws, he sought out a length of rope tied to the low railing's rings and cast it out Latura's way. "Here, Lattie, grab onto this, an' I'll haul ye back aboard … "

Up on the _Goodwill_ , Ramjohn remained oblivious that his targeting ratmaid had even departed from his ship due to stumbling gravity, his eyes only on the Governor's mansion. As he'd feared earlier, the _Darksky_ had blown right at the moment he'd taken a shot, making the whole ship rock and and altering the massive shaft's trajectory. The blast had knocked him and his crewrats right off their feet, although fortunately Latura was the only one to have been pitched overboard, and so they didn't see at once just where their third shot had hit. When Ramjohn could at last regain his footing and study the scene up on the hilltop, disappointment darkened his face.

The missile had hit the ground directly in front of the mansion, excavating a modest crater in the earth there but missing the structure entirely.

"Well, that was a waste of a shot," the mouse grumbled to himself.

Then, as he stood and watched, the entire front face of the stormpowder-abused building, undermined and further weakened by this latest assault on its integrity, crumbled and collapsed in a slow-motion display of lazy self-demolition, sliding down to the ground as it detached itself from the rest of the structure to leave only the rear half of the mansion still standing.

"Well, that's better." Ramjohn turned to regard the _Darksky_ ; the doomed frigate lay burning and split in two, as was the tendency for the ships of Tratton's Fleet that died in such a fashion, and the explosion had reduced most of the dock to splinters and capsized the two fleetrunners there.

It had also left the _Deeprunner_ listing sickly to one side, but Ramjohn spared no thought for the ironclad now.

"Looks like we won't have to save an arrow for that deathbucket after all, so we can use what we got left to bring down the rest of that mansion an' make sure the Queen's good an' dead if she's still trapped in there. But we'll hafta reorient, since that wave knocked us about a bit, an' our aim's off now. Get Lattie over here, so she can tell us how we gotta tweak it."

Most of the rats around the mouse looked mystified as their eyes searched for Latura and she was nowhere to be found, until one volunteered, "Uh, she went over th' side when th' ship got rocked … "

Ramjohn rushed to the port railing to see if this could be true, less worried for Latura's safety than what her loss would mean for his own plans. He looked down just in time to see Tropsa helping the ratmaid, sopping wet and dripping, up onto the tiny forward deck of _Fleetrunner Eleven_.

"Ah, good work there, retrieving her from th' brine," Ramjohn lauded Tropsa in cursory fashion. "Send 'er on up - got another shot or two she's gotta help us with."

Tropsa gave Ramjohn a mouthful of fangs by way of reply. "Naw, I think yer shootin's done fer th' night. Lattie's stayin' down 'ere with me."

Ramjohn grew incensed at this interference. "We've gotta make sure the Queen's dead! This ain't a job we can leave half-finished!"

"I think you wrecked 'er place good 'nuff that she'll not ferget, if she still draws breath. But here's th' thing: I ain't all that convinced Cordato gave you orders or leave t' be doin' this in th' first place, an' that'd be a problem. So I'm keepin' Lattie right here at my side 'til we're all back at th' _Redfoam_ an' can hash this out properlike. You want her back, ye'll hafta come down an' take 'er from me - an' if you do that, I'll order all yer rats up there t' seize control o' yer ship th' moment you set yer claws off o' her."

To punctuate Tropsa's threat most forcefully, Latura gave a spluttering cough, then waved at Ramjohn with a lopsided smile. "Hullo up there, Cap'n Mousey! I fell when th' big bad ship went boom!"

Ramjohn scowled and grimaced and generally looked altogether unhappy, knowing there was nothing he could do about the situation. "Okay," he yelled out to his own crewrats, "guess we're done here, an' that's all th' trouble we're givin' the Queen this night. Let's hope it was enough t' make it her last night, else we'll have two ruthless monarchs out after our tails an' our pelts instead o' just one. A'right, let's pull up anchor an' set these sails t' catch th' wind so this risin' tide'll take us outta Talaga again!"

The mouse's crew scrambled to obey, but it quickly became apparent that their efforts to carry out those orders were to prove futile. "Sumpthin's wrong, Cap'n sir," said a rat named Nostroza. "We got th' sails shaped t' catch th' breezes, but we ain't budgin'. Don't think it's 'cos we're becalmed neither. Summat's up."

Ramjohn went to the ship's wheel and gave it an experimental turn, or tried to, but found it meeting with a stubborn resistance letting him know exactly what the problem was, and left him grinding his teeth in frustration.

"Oh rot. That blast pushed us forward an' sideways, closer t' shore an' further into the shallows. We're stuck 'gainst the sand of the bay bottom!"


	76. Chapter LXXV

**LXXV.**

 **TALAGA**

Uroza stood on the outer periphery of the destruction being wrought upon the Governor's mansion, not daring to venture too close lest he get caught up in it himself. The first two shots from the rebels had left most of the upper floor a smoldering, devastated ruin - the very rooms, the Spymaster knew, that Regelline occupied. The dark face of the mansion he'd observed during his walk up from the pier to consult with Voccola had suggested norat had likely been awake within, save perhaps for a pawful of the Queen's ever-vigilant personal guard, so they all would have been taken by surprise in the midst of their slumbers.

This did not bode well for the Queen's survival. This did not bode well at all.

But all he could do now, in this moment, was stand back and wait for the assault to end. Even had he a hundred willing troops at his side - troops he hoped would join him very soon from both Fort Ballaster and the _Darksky_ \- he would be just as helpless, unable to commence any search and rescue mission among the wreckage while that wreckage was still being created. Inserting himself into harm's way now would do little to help the Queen if he ended up dead himself.

And so, for the moment, he forced himself to stand and watch, to see how the rest of this attack played out.

From his vantage, he saw several figures running out of the mansion's still-intact main entrance facing the harbor. Some tarried, and one or two ran back inside, the latter no doubt guards loathe to leave their Queen, even if they'd momentarily done just that, compelled by duty to re-enter the scene of devastation so as not to abandon their female sovereign. The rest he dismissed as house staff, with little to do but survive now that they'd escaped the disaster with their lives. Not for a heartbeat did Uroza suppose any of them might be Regelline, who would have been surrounded by guards and lackeys had she managed to escape, bustled clear of the danger zone. None of those gathered outside the burning mansion noticed him standing at his more prudent remove, dark against the black of night, nor did any of the other village rats roused out of their own homesteads by this catastrophe - a catastrophe about to become magnitudes louder and more ruinous than it already was.

The explosion of the _Darksky_ practically lifted Uroza off his feet. For all the ships Tratton's Fleet had lost in this manner, the Spymaster had not witnessed any of those losses firstpaw, with his own eyes and ears and whiskers, or felt it on his flesh and fur or in his bones, and no cold, clinical report could convey the spectacular enormity of the physical event. So overwhelming was the sensory assault of that detonation that Uroza almost failed to notice the second, much smaller fireball which erupted moments later directly in front of the Governor's mansion, blasting a modest crater in the ground before the edifice and obliterating the presumed house staff who had so unwisely tarried there in their confusion.

Uroza ducked into a crouch and spun around, presenting his back to the blast in lowered profile in case any flying debris should find its way this far up and inland. Hunkering down in this stance for a few dozen heartbeats until he assessed it safe to rise again, the Spymaster stood to take in this now double catastrophe … just in time to see the front of the Governor's mansion collapse in upon itself in a slow motion cascade of destruction, further dooming the chances of pulling the Queen alive and unscathed from the wreckage.

For many moments Uroza regarded the nighttime panorama, gaze sliding back and forth between the ruined mansion and the even more ruined _Darksky_ as his mind worked furiously. So, this was an all-out attack, and not just an overwrought attempt on the Queen's life, with multiple targets in the rebels' sights. The harbor explosion had annihilated not just the frigate but most of the pier as well, overturning both fleetrunners and leaving the _Deeprunner_ looking positively sickly. This death strike had clearly not come from Clucus's war engine, since that had delivered another salvo at the mansion at almost the same instant - which meant that either the rebels had snuck a saboteur aboard the _Darksky_ or else had applied stormpowder to her from without, the latter a distinct possibility owing to the presence of their own fleetrunner, certainly maneuverable enough to carry out such a task. A two-pronged assault, designed to debilitate two major targets simultaneously - such strategy, and its apparent success, bespoke a higher level of strategic sophistication than Uroza would care to grant any ragtag band of former slaves.

Could Urthblood have had a paw in all of this? Might this even be the opening of his long-feared renewal of hostilities toward the Searat Empire? Looking at what lay before him now, Uroza felt this as a spine-chilling likelihood. The seizure of Clucus's prototype to be turned against ship and shore, and the use of Tratton's own stormpowder to sink vessels of the Fleet, all carried echoes of Urthblood's earlier strategy, setting aflame mighty dreadnaughts with his fire-dropping gulls and then just standing back to let those flames reach the powder stores and ignite them to finish the badger's work. It all fit with their enemy's long-established pattern, and the picture emerging this night was not pretty at all.

On some other level, it occurred to Uroza that Harbormaster Rovtar would have had plenty of time to reach the _Darksky_ to deliver his message to abandon ship, placing him either on the ship herself or upon the dock alongside her at the moment of the explosion. Which meant than one of the highest figures of authority on Talaga had just been slain.

Then Uroza looked back to the mansion, reminding himself that a much higher figure of authority for the Empire as a whole might also have lost her life tonight.

These rebels were good, far better than they had any right to be. Even were they to withdraw at this moment and visit no more damage upon Talaga, this sneak attack had wrought more damage and struck a greater blow against the Empire than any setback since the loss of the four dreadnaughts at Salamandastron. Truly, this night was a disaster, even if Regelline had escaped the half-collapsed Governor's mansion … and whether she had or not, Uroza did not relish the prospect of having to report all of this to King Tratton.

Then again, if Urthblood was behind this attack, who could say whether His Majesty himself still lived? Why would the badger strike here, so far out at sea at the very heart of the Searat Kingdom, and ignore the very King who had delivered himself into the clutches of the militaristic, fanatically-devoted squirrel archers who would carry out their Lord's every whim and bidding? Perhaps Uroza would never have a chance to deliver this dire news at all … for any number of reasons.

Shouting from down near the tideline drew his attention to the attacking ship. It took the Spymaster several moments of scrutiny to register what went on there, but at last the tableau sorted itself out to his eyes. Yes, Clucus's weapons craft was indeed closer to the shore than she had been before the blast from the _Darksky_ , and yes, she did now tilt at just an ever-so-slight beachward angle - nothing so drastic or obvious as the _Deeprunner_ 's nauseating list out alongside the now-obliterated pier, but still visible to a trained eye such as his. The position and attitude of the weapon ship, along with the scrambling confusion of her crew, made the whole thing quite clear.

The attackers had run aground, and were now stuck.

Uroza smiled. Maybe the rebels would not have things all their own way after all, and something could be salvaged from the situation. That enemy craft would not be easily dislodged, certainly not in time to escape Captain Margate's battalion Voccola summoned even now from Fort Ballaster, whose weaponry and numbers would overwhelm the slave crew. If Clucus's weapon could be recaptured, never more would it claim another ship of the Fleet, and the rebels' two main weapons - surprise and the giant crossbow - would both be stripped from them. Even more than this, any survivors of the coming clash could be interrogated, to find out just how they had managed to do all they had done, and then perhaps reveal once and for all whether Urthblood stood behind this.

And then - depending on whether or not Tratton survived his trip to the inner lands, and whether the Queen survived this sneak attack - decisions would be made as to how to respond to this aggression by the Badger Lord.

Uroza noticed none of the family rats who'd turned out of their own more modest villas and cottages had made any move toward the devastated mansion, too devastated themselves by this night's events to do more than stand in shock and look on with eyes wide and mouths agape. Somewhere at the back of his mind Uroza wondered how many of those ratwives would be left widows, how many of their offspring would be left fatherless, before the rebels' reign of terror was put to an end. He already knew of at least three new widows who had yet to learn that their mates lived no more, blissfully bereft spouses kept in ignorance of their losses by Uroza's decision not to share news of the rebellion with anyrat except Torabi and now Voccola … and Harbormaster Rovtar, whose own wife must now be added to the widow's list, he supposed. Except that unlike the others, she'd had the chance to be on paw for her husband's demise.

The Spymaster didn't know what was going on with the staff of the Governor's mansion. Clearly, those who'd escaped out the front and then lingered had all been killed or maimed by the third explosion, but he had no way of seeing how many might have fled out the back, and whether they tarried there still or might have run off to put distance between themselves and the violent scene. He did feel fairly certain that neither Trushar nor Harmata nor any of the Queen's personal guard would willingly leave Regelline's side at such a time, which meant that if she was still in the mansion, they were too - one way or the other.

Uroza glanced once more toward the grounded enemy ship, weighing options and possibilities. In her current predicament, her crew were not likely to use any more shots on the mansion, even were they able to do so. The _Darksky_ might have been eliminated as a threat to them, but with no catapult or other war engines aboard, and questionable fighting skills among their members (especially if any large portion of them were woodland rats), the massive crossbow remained their only significant defense, and until they could free themselves, they would naturally prefer to keep it in reserve for any large force that challenged them.

Or so Uroza hoped as he strode forward to see if he might enter the half-collapsed Governor's mansion and discover for himself, if he may, whether the Searat Queen lived.

 **THE** _ **REDFOAM**_

Many leagues to the north, some quirk of the calm subtropical atmosphere carried the echoes of the _Darksky'_ s detonation across the waves to the waiting _Redfoam_.

No flash was seen, the explosion occurring in a sheltered bay below the horizon line, but the distant crumpling rumble obeyed not the rules of sight, rolling across the sea to reach the ears of the rebel crew like a solitary clap of muffled thunder.

Cordato, standing at the galleon's prow and looking toward the unseen Talaga, cocked his head at the sound. "Well, at least part of our plan seems to've met with success."

Potdar, standing alongside the insurgency's captain, asked, "Y' reckon that was a ship, or th' fort?"

"Either'd suit me fine. Tho', if I hadta pick one other the other, I'd go with a ship, since a landbound fortress an' its troops can't go chasin' us 'cross th' sea like a warship could. Safe t' say it wasn't our shipkiller, since she wasn't carryin' enuff stormpowder aboard to've made a boom we' could hear all th' way out here."

" _Hope_ it wasn't th' shipkiller," Potdar added, "'cos if that went, it'd likely mean Lattie went along with 'er."

Cordato threw a sideways glance at Potdar. "You so sure 'bout that? Lattie seems t' survive ev'rything. Wouldn't put it past 'er to walk out of it without a scratch, even if the shipkiller blew to splinters all around her."

"Yah, there is that. Still, we'd all better hope no harm befalls Lattie or that mouse ship, 'cos we'll be relyin' on both t' get us through this."

"Aye, that we will. I'll have some choice words fer that halfrat, if he makes it back with his head still attached, let 'im know how I really feel 'bout him runnin' off like that. Countin' on Lattie bein' his good luck charm just like she's been fer us … an' if she can't protect him, let's at least hope she protects his ship an' gets it back to us in one piece."

And so the two senior rats of the _Redfoam_ stared south into the night, straining their ears to hear if any further explosions would follow the first.

 _ **FLEETRUNNER ELEVEN**_

Tropsa was about to pull away from the _Goodwill_ to investigate the state of the ironclad when an urgent cry from the larger ship made him hold his fleetrunner in place, calling down the short companionway to the rowing galley for his rats to ship their oars.

Straightening, the false spyrat shouted up to the _Goodwill_ , "What's th' fuss up there?"

Ramjohn leaned out over the port gunwale of the weaponship. "We're scrapin' bottom, stuck against the sand. We'll need your help gettin' free."

"My help?" Tropsa looked blank, and snidely followed up with, "What, y' want us t' get out an' push?!"

"Aye, that'd work real good," the mouse shot back. "I need t' tie a rope 'tween the Goodwill an' your fleetrunner, then use your oarsrats to dislodge us from the seabed. Got no rowers of our own."

"What? Yer ship's five times th' size o' mine, mebbe ten! Plus she's got that big shooter contraption added to her bulk an' weighin' her down. We'd not be able t' budge 'er; I got eight rowers, not eighty!"

"You'll budge her just fine. Tide's risin', case you hadn't noticed. By the time you get tied up an' in position, we'll be ridin' a little higher'n we are now, so we'll not be stuck quite so fast. If you act as a tug, an' I shape our sails just right, we'll both be on our way out of this bay in no time flat!"

"An' about that," Tropsa countered. "My mission was t' blow any warships an' capture the ironclad if I could, an' in case _you_ hadn't noterced, that job's only half-finished. AIn't got time t' be pullin' yer tail outta th' fire. Not my fault you don't know how t' sail well enuff t' keep from gettin' yerself stuck in th' sand!"

"And in case _you_ hadn't noticed," Ramjohn carried on with the sarcastic trade-offs, "there's nobeast who'll be coming to that steel ship's aid any time soon. The frigate's ripped in two an' sinkin', the two fleetrunner's flipped, an' the dock's blasted away so that norat can reach the ironclad from shore. She ain't goin' anywhere, so you got time to help get me free before you go pokin' away at her."

"Unless her crew recovers their wits in time to right her an' get her on th' move … in which case she could come at us 'fore we could get away, ram you amidships an' deprive us of th' one weapon we got that'll let us stand against Tratton. Then where'd we be?"

"All the more reason to hop to it and get the _Goodwill_ free. Once I've got the sea fully under my hull again, I'll be able to sail circles 'round that clunky lead boat. 'Sides, if I see that monstrosity bearin' down on us before I can maneuver away, I'll put an arrow in her prow and stop her dead in her wake. Course, you'd hafta get Lattie back up here in a big hurry if that happened, for her to help me line up my shot, so maybe you'd just wanna let her climb back aboard now to save us precious moments we might not have in battle."

"Lattie's stayin' put with me," Tropsa growled.

"'ey, don't I get any say in this?" Latura put in from somewhere in the background.

Tropsa went on, "An' we don't even know if one o' yer stormpowder harpoons would so much as dent her armor."

Ramjohn glanced across at the floundering _Deeprunner_. "She already looks quite dented to me, so I'd say stormpowder can do a number on her. But if you're still in doubt, ask Lattie down there what we should be doing, an' let her decide."

Almost reluctant to consult with the ratmaid about this in light of how he suspected she might counsel them, Tropsa nevertheless turned to Latura, knowing he could not reject this appeal to their guiding savior now that the mouse had dragged her into this debate and invoked her name. "What sez you, Lattie? Go after the ironclad first, or tarry here an' get this seamouse unstuck from 'is own foolishness?"

Latura needed hardly a moment to answer. "Gotta save th' shipkiller. That comes 'fore all else. Steel ship c'n wait - tho' I don't think it's goin' anywhere."

Tropsa accepted this with double resignation, both for the ratmaid siding with Ramjohn but also for her inference that maybe they'd not be adding the _Deeprunner_ to their fleet after all. "Okay … lemme go get some ropes that'll do fer towin' … "'

 **THE GOVERNOR'S MANSION**

Awareness returned to Regelline with a clawing insistence, pulling her out of an oblivion she might have preferred. Only half-remembering the attack on the mansion, she blinked through the pain and confusion of her jumbled mind, smoke stinging her eyes and making her cough lightly. She lay upon something irregular and lumpy; collecting her thoughts enough to inspect it, she saw that it was Trushar, and he was quite dead. It would have been well beyond her faculties at that moment to piece together that he'd given his life, as was his duty, both shielding her from the second explosion and cushioning her fall after the third blast when they rode the collapsing upper story down to the ground.

Some of the debris from those events rested atop her now, but nothing crushing or suffocating. A fortuitously-fallen crossbeam angled over her to prop up heavier wreckage which might have snuffed out her life otherwise, creating a small pocket within the surrounding ruins to preserve her.

Her nightgown was half-off and badly torn and, had her wits been collected enough for her to perform an inventory, she might have realized she was bleeding from a half-dozen places. None of her wounds were excruciating enough to penetrate through her mental fog, however; it would take the questing voice calling out to her through the darkness to do that.

"Your Majesty? You Majesty, are you in here? Answer me if you can!"

Regelline stiffened under her semi-concealing layer of wood and plaster, that voice snapping her back to the moments after the first explosion tore her from her bed, when she'd stood at the shattered windows overlooking the harbor and realized what manner of craft had opened fire on her residence, and drew the mental connections based on that observation. Those thoughts and memories came back to her traumatized mind in disjointed bits and pieces, like the fragments of some half-remembered dream, but they invoked in her the same powerful emotions that such a dream might stir. As a result, one overriding thought rose to the top of her awareness above all others.

 _The hunter seeks me out to finish the job._

Trushar lay lifeless beneath her, his seasons of selfless service now at a violent end, his inert form of no use to her whatsoever as protector or champion …

No, that was not entirely true. For belted around his leg Trushar still bore his dagger sheath, blade within. Repositioning herself ever so slightly so as not to attract more attention than she could afford, she slid the knife free and clutched it at her side. Perhaps her stalker would miss her and move on, giving her a chance to escape unseen, and perhaps he would not. Either way, she would not let him have his way with her without a fight …

Uroza picked his way painstakingly through the mansion's wreckage where he could, some areas too badly demolished for him to enter and others showing enough guttering flame that he dared not venture near it lest it set his clothes and fur alight. As carefully as he proceeded, however, he could not avoid accumulating numerous small cuts and bruises, especially to his footpaws as he slowly clambered over smashed furnishings, fallen walls and collapsed ceilings. Unshod paws were poorly suited to such rough search-and-rescue labors, and he found himself wishing for a pair of Malvarkis's uniform dress boots, although even simple sandals would have been better than nothing.

No other rat from either the mansion itself (if any still survived) or from Talaga Village had emerged or come forward to assist him in his efforts. Which rather suited Uroza, in both his solitary nature and his specific aims here. While some help might have been welcome, he did not want to risk disrupting the ruined mansion into further collapse with the presence of too many frantically-searching bodies, and he could move more freely alone. Besides, if the Queen did still live and was to be found in here, she might appreciate the face of a single rat she knew she could trust over a gaggle of rescuers mostly unknown to her.

Up ahead he sensed a movement among the rubble that stood out somehow from the more ambient settling of the debris, a disturbance that spoke of purposeful action behind it. Homing in on the spot, he pushed forward … and there, sheltered under a leaning roofbeam, he found Regelline staring up at him.

Relief flooded through the Spymaster. He couldn't tell how badly she might be injured, but the mere fact that she'd survived at all gave him hope that something might be salvaged from this disaster after all. If the rebels had meant to destroy the Queen, they had failed - and that constituted a victory he could build upon.

"Your Majesty!" he said as he positioned himself to shove aside the obscuring clutter that lay over her. "Are you injured? Can you walk?"

"Oh, I think I can walk. In fact, I think I can run!" And with that she lashed out and struck. Unable to reach Uroza's heart or vitals due to her position, she satisfied herself with driving the dagger up to its hilt into the male rat's thigh.

Uroza saw the blow coming an instant before it landed, a blow he normally could have easily dodged. But now, burdened by his wrestling with the cumbersome wreckage, he could not move so quickly, and the shockingly unexpected thrust found its mark precisely as Regelline intended.

Uroza was not a rat prone to screaming under any circumstances, much more accustomed to making others scream. But now he forgot his typical taciturn reserve and yowled in pain as he let go of the wreckage and fell backward, dagger still buried in his flesh.

Regelline, now more or less freed from any restraining obstructions, sprang to her feet and made to flee, not stopping in her frenzied delirium to retrieve the knife or attempt further harm on her presumed executioner. This maneuver revealed that her tattered nightgown was caught under a heavier section of the rubble which had narrowly avoided pulverizing her but now trapped her only garment. Rather than rip the fabric to leave just the snared portion behind, Regelline shrugged out of the gown completely and, with one final baleful and not entirely coherent glare at Uroza, fled the scene and ran out into the night in just her fur.

Never once in her malicious, paranoid malaise of self-preservation did she stop to spare a thought to her royal offspring whom, just a short time before, she'd delayed her own escape to safeguard.

Uroza sat sprawled within the smoky ruins clutching at his wound and grimacing in pain as his mind worked furiously. What in the name of Hellgates could have made the Queen behave as she had? Either she'd been rendered disoriented and deranged through a blow to the head, or else she'd somehow concluded Uroza was behind the attempt on her life - possibly both. Which was exceedingly unfortunate, but nothing he could do anything about at the moment, even had she not run off - a scenario which likely would have resulted in a further attempt on his own life on her part, possibly complicated by an incapability to engage in any rational discussion. So, all things considered. perhaps her flight was for the best.

Bracing himself, Uroza yanked out the dagger, prepared to see whether a mad gush of blood indicated a severed artery. Fortunately, the flood of crimson was merely disconcerting and not fatal, he observed. If Regelline was half the assassin he was, she'd not have been so sloppy and would have taken greater care to make her one opening a mortal strike.

Then again, the Queen _was_ half the assassin he was, and then some, and should have been able to do better than this. Further evidence, to Uroza's mind, that Regelline must be dazed and not fully herself.

The Spymaster considered his own peril, beyond his lamed leg. If Regelline ran about the place ranting that Uroza was behind tonight's attack and meant to murder her, she might just convince enough of Talaga to see him as their enemy, and to muster arms against him. And if that were to happen, he would be lucky to see another sunrise.

Perhaps, in coming to Talaga, he had sealed his own doom.

Pushing aside such speculation for the moment, Uroza bent his will to the more immediate concerns of survival. If the Queen wasn't going to make use of her discarded nightgown, then he would. Her blade might not have drawn his lifeblood, but it was still a debilitating wound in need of staunching. Grabbing at the trapped fabric, he tore the main part free and, ripping it into strips with the aid of one of his own daggers, began bandaging his stabbed leg with the remnants of the Queen's nightwear.

He was halfway done with the task when his ears picked up the faint cries of a babe from somewhere in the rubble nearby.


	77. Chapter LXXVI

**LXXVI.**

 **TALAGA**

Ramjohn's crew gave a collective sigh of relief when the _Goodwill_ finally slid free of the sandy bay bottom, liberated by the rising tide and the bent backs of Tropsa's fleetrunner rowing crew. The mouse had never doubted his ability to get his ship dislodged, but most of the rats serving under him were not so quick to share his optimism, their anxiety compounded by the growing number of Talaga harbor guard congregating on the beach opposite them, sending shouted invective and the occasional crossbow bolt their way. Fortunately, most of the isle's bay defenders bore only blades to enforce their will and keep the peace, their force never intended to engage an enemy of this kind, and with no other ranged weapons at their immediate disposal, their meager shots all fell short or went wide. None among those beach-bound defenders attempted to swim out to the _Goodwill_ , knowing they'd be slain by the armed crew before they could board, and if it belatedly occurred to them to fetch dinghies or small fishing boats from elsewhere on the sandy beach to assail the _Goodwill_ with a mini-armada, those thoughts came too late, for the weaponship was already fully afloat again with her prow pointed out to sea before a single rowboat could be produced or made ready against this most unlikely of attackers.

It could also very well have been that the searats ashore were simply too shocked by this audacious strike from a preposterous vessel to be thinking clearly at all.

Now fully under sail and with no further need of the fleetrunner's rowing muscle to propel her, the _Goodwill_ 's captain strode to the bow of his ship and untied the rope linking the two craft, casting it back down to the waiting Tropsa. "Here y' go, Cap'n, an' thanks for the pull! Now how's about you give Lattie back, in case another searat ship shows up and I need her to line up my shot for me?"

Tropsa shook his head, still regarding the mouse with open suspicion. "That's a no, matey. Case you'd fergot, I gotta go check out that ironclad now, see if she's still seaworthy, an' if so clean out her crew an' take 'er fer ourselves. Might need Lattie t' help tell us how t' work th' blasted thing."

Ramjohn scoffed. "What would Lattie know about how t' sail an ironclad?"

"What would she know about shootin' off a giant crossbow? But she seems to've got that all figgered out, don't she?"

Ramjohn could only stew and glower, frustrated at being denied further shots at the Governor's mansion which would almost surely seal the fate of the Searat Queen.

"'Sides," Tropsa went on, "we just blasted the only ship hereabouts likely t' give you any real challenge, an' no others're like t' be approachin' Talaga in th' dead of night, so ye're welcome fer that. Now, why don't you run back to th' _Redfoam_ an' report to Cordato how successful yer 'mission' was; I'm sure he'll be overjoyed t' hear all about it. Since, y' know, he ordered it an' all."

Latura, standing alongside Tropsa, spoiled the fleetrunner captain's stinging barb by interjecting, "Nay, I still ain't sure Cap'n Cap'n did tell Cap'n Mousey t' go shootin' at Queen Ratty … "

Tropsa rolled his eyes in the dark. "I _know_ that, Lattie. It's called sarca- oh, never mind. Let's go take a look at the ironclad, an' see if we c'n add her to our fleet."

Leaving Ramjohn grinding his teeth, Tropsa turned his small spycraft toward the ruined dock and the unmoving, steel-plated vessel lolling listlessly alongside the shattered pier.

00000000000

Uroza limped out of the half-collapsed Governor's mansion with Prince Rupart clutched in both arms as he struggled along on his wounded leg. He knew he should stay off it as much as possible to avoid aggravating the injury, but the groanings and cracklings of the ruins around him had also stressed the urgency of removing both himself and the Royal heir from the premises in case of further collapse. The babe's cries had mostly subsided to low noises that didn't grate on Uroza's nerves nearly as much as those initial full-throated shrieks, and Rupart snuggled into his blanket with seeming acceptance of the situation. The babe had not appeared to be injured as far as Uroza could tell, one small silver lining to this otherwise disastrous affair.

But no chances could be taken with somebeast so important. Now safely clear of the smoldering mansion, Uroza blinked his eyes to wash them of the worst of the smoke's effects and fastened his gaze on Ballaster to the north as he struck out along the high path leading to the fortress.

One of the lingering village rats approached, perhaps recognizing Uroza even in the dark, perhaps not. "Is that … is that the Prince?"

"Yes." Uroza didn't feel any more needed to be said.

"What of … the Queen? Does she … is she … ?"

"The Queen lives. But she may not have her wits entirely about her. She attacked me when I tried to help, and then fled into the night, leaving the Prince behind. Spread the word to your fellow villagers to watch for her, but to approach with care if you should see her."

And then Uroza moved on, feeling he'd done his necessary work. If word of Regelline's mental instability could spread faster than any accusations of her own that she might voice against him, he might yet regain the upper paw here. He only needed to make it as far as Fort Ballaster, and once he could fully explain the situation to Voccola and Captain Margate there, he could place himself firmly back in command of Talaga - even if he did have only one good leg at the moment.

Ballaster would have healers to properly stitch and bandage his wound, and he would spare the necessary moments for them to do just that once he'd appraised Margate and Voccola of matters. They'd surely seen and heard the explosion of the _Darksky_ themselves, but they might not have pieced together the picture as completely as Uroza had. And, just below Ballaster on the path leading up to the stronghold, Uroza knew he would find the home and office of the midwife Demetria, where he could deposit Prince Rupart and be sure the royal heir would receive appropriate care and treatment until the Queen returned to her senses … if she ever did. And if she didn't, then Demetria would have the babe all to herself until Tratton returned from the mainland - assuming he ever returned at all.

 _How could it have all come to this?_ Uroza wondered to himself as he stumped on through the night with his squirming burden. How could it all seem to be flying apart all at once, and so spectacularly? This rebellion, the unknown status and fate of the King, the unhinged state of the Queen … it could only be Urthblood behind it. Nothing else made sense.

Uroza was about to find out how spectacular the magnitude of this night's catastrophe would become.

He had his head down when Ballaster blew in an eruption positively dwarfing the _Darksky_ 's demise. Almost on the scale of a rat-wrought volcanic release, the entire fortress came apart like a lava-sundered mountain peak, blasted into stone chunks propelled straight up into the air and sprayed outward in all directions as the fireball at the heart of the cataclysm obliterated all in its way.

The blast blew Uroza right onto his back, knocking the wind out of him and eliciting new painful spasms of protest from his injured leg; somehow, he managed not to drop the babe who bounced against his tight stomach muscles and sent up new cries at this earth-shaking thunder. Rolling over to kneel on his good leg while the wounded limb splayed out behind him on the path, Uroza bent over the Prince with his back to the explosion, expecting at any moment for a boulder-sized hunk of rubble to smite them both and leave them as an unrecognizable mess there on the ground.

No such annihilation came. Sensing at last that it might be safe to rise, Uroza struggled to his footpaws, Rupart still cradled in his arms, and turned to regard the now-altered skyline of Talaga's northeast coast.

Ballaster was gone, simply levelled. The detonation of the stronghold's stormpowder stores - and Uroza harbored no doubts that that was what had happened - had utterly demolished the stone fortress. Norat within could possibly have survived, which meant that if Voccola and Margate had still been mustering Ballaster's troops inside the fortress, both were now dead, along with the main military force meant to hold Talaga against an enemy. Nearly as badly smashed were the villas and cottages built under Ballaster's former shadow; in fact, he couldn't tell whether any of them still stood - including Demetria's. Which meant that the midwife likely hadn't survived either, and even if she had, her ruined domicile would be no place to bear the Prince for either succor or examination. And then another reason occurred to Uroza to warn him away from the scene of this latest disaster.

The rebels had infiltrated Fort Ballaster - the same stronghold in whose dungeons languished the last of Urthblood's rat fighters who'd not yet been given to the cormorants. Had the insurgents made straight for the stormpowder stores to light them off at the earliest opportunity, or had they first liberated those prisoners? If the latter, had those woodland fighters managed to get safely clear before the explosion? That didn't seem possible, but on this night, much which was impossible was happening right before his eyes.

What was clear and undeniable now was that this was at least a three-pronged offensive: the pier, the Governor's mansion, and now Ballaster, all coordinated with deadly precision. Was there a fourth prong yet to announce itself? Or even a fifth beyond that?

Talaga was falling. Even as he watched, the most heavily-defended isle in the Empire aside from Terramort itself was falling, and he was helpless to stop it.

Uroza glanced seaward. Down in the harbor, he could see that Clucus's weapons ship had freed herself and now made for open water even as the enemy fleetrunner nosed toward the _Deeprunner_. Did they mean to capture the ironclad on top of everything else? The way this night was unfolding, it wouldn't surprise him in the least. And with the state of the ruined pier, there was norat to stop them, save perhaps any survivors aboard the _Deeprunner_ herself. Now _that_ would be an interesting battle to see.

However, he had no intention of lingering to see how it played out. If an enemy attacked from the direction of Ballaster, it would be from the cliff base below the destroyed fortress, east and then south along the rocky shore, which would bring them to the lower village first, where it would be up to the harbor guards to hold them off. Uroza would have no part in any of that; a far more important responsibility lay cradled in his arms.

Gathering himself, the Spymaster of the Searat Empire turned and aimed his gimpy pawsteps inland, toward western Talaga.

00000000000

Even as Uroza was being blown off his footpaws by Fort Ballaster's death, Tropsa had guided _Fleetrunner Eleven_ almost all the way to the _Deeprunner_. Long before the two craft made contact, the rebel captain could see several of the ironclad's crew clinging to the steel ship's top deck, hanging onto the starboard railing with tight grasps to keep from sliding backward across the canted surface as they looked on with shock and dismay at the burning, sinking _Darksky_ and the mostly-demolished pier. Tropsa formulated his strategy, one tried and true for him. Cordato might have expressed doubts about Tropsa's ability to pass himself off as one of Uroza's spyrats in Talaga Harbor under ordinary conditions, but conditions now were anything but ordinary. Unless Uroza himself were on the disabled ironclad, Tropsa felt confident he could pull off such a masquerade now, counting on the likelihood that these crewrats had not yet figured out that this new fleetruner among them was an enemy, distracted as they were by everything else going on around them and the confusion of the night in general. He would use his invoked authority and unyielding bravado to bluff himself and his armed crew aboard the ironclad, then catch the crew members unaware and slay them just as he'd done before, and claim the craft for himself. Easy as that.

Tropsa overlooked several things in this perfect mental scenario, the first of which announced itself with world-shuddering violence as Fort Ballaster's stormpowder stocks ignited as one, blasting apart Talaga's main military garrison and dooming all within.

As cataclysmic as the destruction of the _Darksky_ had been, especially here at closer quarters, and as much as the frigate's detonation had jarred his bones and torn at his eardrums, this was something else entirely, explosive annihilation taken to a whole new level. Ballaster might have stood apart from Talaga Village proper by the distance of a brisk walk and then some, but that was not enough of a remove to make much difference as far as the senses were concerned.

Tropsa was hardly the only rat on the scene to be overwhelmed and thunderstruck by this latest wrinkle in the staggered attack's unfolding layers, as some of the _Deeprunner_ 's crew who'd started to pay more attention to the approaching fleetrunner now turned their gazes northward to behold this newest spectacle.

Tropsa ordered his rowers to ship their oars when they came within easy hailing distance of the ironclad, wanting to sound out the feelings of these searats and assert his authority over them before attempting to board. But before he could even initiate any conversation on his own terms, one of the _Deeprunner_ 's crew barked across the water at him, "Who're you?"

Struggling to maintain his domineering pose, he replied, "Cap'n Tropsa, of Spymaster Uroza's agency. A late assignment t' Talaga, by order o' King Tratton 'imself - an' looks like I got here just in time t' help fight these rebels!"

"Fight 'em? We saw y' go right over t' that monstrosity that opened fire on th' Queen's residence."

Tropsa chewed at nothing, not having expected to be challenged so early in this ruse. "Well, aye - went over t' get 'em t' stop shooting. An' it worked, didn't it? Now they're on th' run!"

"Well, yeah, but now they're gettin' away! An' it looked like you towed 'em free. What was that all about?"

"O' course I freed 'em - so we could capture 'em! That's what I'm countin' on you for! They'll not have a chance 'gainst an ironclad!"

For many moments the rats on the _Deeprunner_ just stared back at Tropsa. "You … freed that enemy ship, countin' on us t' go after 'em an' chase 'em down?"

"Aye, that's what I said."

"Are you serious?"

Tropsa made his tone more threatening. "You disobeyin' me, sailor?"

The crewrat's retort was a half scornful laugh. "Our biggest concern right now's how we're gonna abandon ship without gettin' ourselves drowned. We ain't chasin' after anybeast!"

"Abandon ship?" Tropsa's heart sank. "What're ya talkin' 'bout?"

"When th' _Darksky_ went up, it caused us too much damage. We're takin' on water, an' most o' the lower decks 've flooded already!"

"How can that be? Yer ship's made o' steel!"

"You ain't never been aboard an ironclad, have ye? It's steel platin' fastened over a reg'lar ship's wood framework. The steel plates held up, but that explosion was too much fer th' beams holdin' 'em in place, an' the whole starboard side crumpled inward, splinterin' the frame an' poppin' bolts. Not enuff t' kill any crew, but enuff t' wreck th' ship. Can'tcha see how we're listing?"

Tropsa considered the situation. If the ironclad couldn't be captured, then destroying her to make sure she couldn't be brought to bear against them was the next best thing - and it certainly made _his_ job far easier. "So, ye're sayin' she ain't seaworthy t'all?"

"Nay. Not this season, an' mebbe not ever."

"Well then .. " Tropsa drummed his paws against the fleetrunner's bow railing, his next move obvious. These searats seemed not to have seen through his disguise, or at least not entirely, even if they did show some doubts. If he could depart the scene with some semblance of his feigned identity still intact, he might be able to draw upon it at some future juncture, should further interaction with Talaga's rats become necessary. But for now …

"Yer other two fleetrunners capsized," he told the crewrats atop the _Deeprunner_. "Somerat's gotta get clear o' here an' carry word o' what's happened back t' Terramort, an' I guess that falls t' us now. So, I'll be off forthwith."

"'ey, wait!" the ironclad's spokesrat protested. "Can'tcher take some o' us off, ferry us t' shore … ?"

Tropsa didn't even have to stop to consider his reply. "Sorry, but I got a full boat here, no room t' take on any more. 'Sides, none o' you 're cleared to come aboard one o' Spymaster Uroza's fleetrunners. Spyrats an' immediate crew only."

"Not cleared?! We were paw-picked by th' Queen 'erself t' sail with her from Terramort to Talaga! We're prob'ly more qualified to be aboard that toy than _you_ are!"

Tropsa wasn't about to stick around to argue the point, glad now that he'd halted _Fleetrunner Eleven_ far enough away that none of the ironclad's rats could jump aboard without permission. "Sorry, agency orders. Ye're on yer own, I'm afraid!"

"But … but … "

Moments later Tropsa's rowers had taken up their oars again, the false spyrat aiming his small craft out of the harbor and following along almost literally in the _Goodwill_ 's wake.

00000000000

Rostand succeeded in getting most of the Fort Ballaster strike force and all of the freed prisoners out of the stronghold and down onto the rocky shore along the cliff base below. There they congregated, waiting for the last of their assault team to follow along.

It seemed to be taking far too long for Rostand's liking.

"I'm goin' back in," he announced, turning toward the waste outlet leading back up into the fortress, but the restraining paw of one of his comrades on his arm held him in place.

"They'll either make it out or they won't. If trouble's found 'em, naught we can do about it now. Ye'll only be throwin' away yer own life, an' mebbe tip off th' fort guards where th' rest of us went. We can't have that."

"But, we can't just leave Scars an' the others behind!"

"He had a mission, an' that mission was t' blow the powder stores here, or die tryin'. Fer all we know, the fuse's already lit, an' goin' back inside could only doom you without helpin' them."

Rostand hung in indecision between acting on his impulses and heeding his companion. The multiple booms which had reached their ears from farther south on Talaga only fed his consternation; from here, there was no way to tell what those blasts of varying force from the unseen harbor might signify. Perhaps the searat defenders had staged a counterattack? One thing they knew for certain: if Tropsa's company had met with misfortune, that made it all the more crucial to inflict what damage they could upon Ballaster here and now, to prevent Talaga's combined forces from mustering against them.

Then came the blast that decided everything for them - forever, for the unlucky ones. Rostand and Scarnaty had assumed that hunkering down at the cliff base would protect them from the effects of the stormpowder stockpiles blowing, an assessment proven correct as far as the boulder-sized chunks of Ballaster spewed clear off the clifftop and out to sea. But for the portion of the stronghold's northern face that merely bulged outward and then crumble-tumbled straight down upon them, this proved a major miscalculation, and Rostand could only stand and watch in shocked horror as the cascade of rock and masonry obliterated fairly a third of the rats sheltering along the rocky tide line.

One of the freed prisoners, looking on equally aghast, found his voice enough to mutter, "Well, _they_ didn't get t' enjoy their freedom very long, poor wretches … "

Rostand shook himself and turned his attention to the rowboat his team had used for their clandestine landing, only to find that a rat-sized chunk of flying rubble had hit it squarely to punch a rat-sized hole straight through its hull, rendering it half-submerged and beyond repair. The remnants of their original team could still have used it to get off of Talaga, but now they would have to depend on Tropsa to pick them up in his fleetrunner - except that, with the extra explosions they'd heard from the direction of the harbor, they had no way of knowing whether _Fleetrunner Eleven_ was currently in any better shape than their own dinghy.

Which left them all landbound, perhaps permanently, or at least until Cordato brought the _Redfoam_ in for replenishment farther west along Talaga's north shore. That had always been the plan anyway - for the survivors of the assault on Ballaster, if any did survive, to strike out parallel to the coast and rendezvous with the galleon where she landed, and that could be done just as easily on foot as by rowboat.

The freed prisoners from Ballaster's dungeons had never been part of that equation. For one thing, it had never been a given that the rebels would even be able to liberate Urthblood's fighters from their cells, or what shape those inmates would be in even if their release could be secured. And even if this was achieved, the assumption was that they would either follow along to join the rebels at the _Redfoam_ or else surge south en masse to unleash their fury upon the unsuspecting civilians of Talaga Village and any armed defenders unwise enough to stand in their way.

Rostand regarded those vengeance-minded land rats now. Some were clothed, more were not, and over half bore arms, either supplied by their rescuers or taken from the slain fortress guards. And it quickly became apparent that retribution was exactly what lay uppermost in their minds.

What surprised Rostand was how much he found himself sharing that bloodlust. For Scarnaty and his other companions who never made it out of Ballaster alive, and for those who did only to be buried under the rockfall of the dying fortress, and moreover for all the seasons spent in chains under Crackmaster's whip, he felt welling up inside him a desire to join in the incipient rampage, to exact further revenge upon his own kind, beyond what he'd already gained from Trangle's crew, and the _Skyburn_ , and the _Gullslayer_ , and even Ballaster itself. For this was Talaga, the seat and the heart of the Searat Empire every bit as much as Terramort, if in its own very different way, and striking a blow here would surpass the capture of any galleon or weaponship, the sinking of any frigate or dreadnaught. To do damage here, on what was considered the safest spot in Tratton's realm for commanders and their families, would strike a blow to send the Empire reeling, or even topple it altogether.

 _And who knows?_ Rostand thought to himself, wholly unaware of what Ramjohn had been up to with the _Goodwill_. _Perhaps I can even claim the life of Tratton's Queen herself._

The same rat who'd stopped him from going back inside for Scarnaty and the others now said, "Those of us who can had better get started west, so we can be on th' lookout fer th' _Redfoam_ when she lands."

Rostand shook his head. "Nay, not so fast. Don't reckon we're done wreakin' our havoc here. Cordato won't be puttin' ashore 'til well inta the daylight hours, so we got some time t' burn. These rats we freed 're spoilin' fer a scrape with those who imprisoned 'em, an' I can't say I ain't either. So let's pay a visit to th' village an' harbor, an' see what we c'n get done there!"

"But … there'll be guards … armed fighters … "

"We're armed too. An' how many will there be? We know Ballaster's gone, an' likely all 'er troops with 'er. An' that other big blast 'fore the fort blew hadta be a searat warship, so she an' her sailors'll be gone too. That takes out th' two main fightin' forces on Talaga, so resistance should be light. An' if it proves otherwise, then we'll fall back an' do just what you said, retreat to th' west an' wait fer th' _Redfoam_. But fer now I wanna see how much more damage we c'n cause 'fore movin' on."

One of the freed land rats, who might have been burly before his time in confinement and still fierce-looking in spite of it, strode over to Rostand. He wore no clothes, but this lack of garb did little to diminish his air of aggressive confidence, bolstered by the wicked searat scimitar he brandished. "We're lookin' fer enemy necks t' sever. You with us, friends?"

Rostand didn't hesitate. "Aye, we're with you, least until we see which way this's gonna fall out. Now, just so happens I know my way 'round Talaga a bit, so follow me, an' I'll show you th' fastest way to their precious seaside village!"

00000000000

Phantoms of her mental turmoil haunted and hounded Regelline as she fled into the forest west of Talaga Village.

In spite of the pandemonium swirling inside her skull, the Searat Queen's thoughts closely paralleled Uroza's far more logical reasoning, in overall purpose if not in the details. While the Spymaster had divined the true architects of tonight's chaos as Regelline had not, both recognized the risks of remaining in or near the main population center; for Uroza, it was the prospect of Urthblood's freed fighters from Ballaster's dungeons descending upon the stunned village to wreak vengeance upon the first available searats they could reach until they were stopped or until they'd sated their bloodlust, whereas for Regelline it was the mistaken notion that Uroza himself was behind all this death and destruction, for motives both clear and obscure. If the Spymaster wanted her dead, and was willing to take so many other lives along with hers to achieve that goal, then who could say what other conspirators he might have brought into that plot? Governor Voccola, Captain Margate, perhaps others now.

She was alone, literally naked in the wilderness.

With her mind still not working quite right, only scattered shards of coherent thought and momentary trains of analytical processing found their way through her brain. For example, where was her babe? Where was the Prince, her heir and hope and future? She couldn't possibly have fled without him … could she? She must go back for him … but no, if she did that, the bad black rat would be there waiting for her. And if securing the Prince for himself (for the King?) had been his primary purpose all along, then he already had what he wanted, and would not hesitate to slay her to keep his prize. She could not do anyrat any good if she were dead, especially not herself. So that was what was most important, and what kept her running farther into the woods whenever some impulse to turn back started to nag at her.

The blast of Ballaster behind and to her right shook her nearly off her unsteady footpaws even as it only remotely impinged upon her fractured awareness, perceived by her as some sort of inchoate confirmation of her rightness in fleeing. Regarded by her paranoid perceptions as an ominous part of the night's sinister upheaval aimed directly at her rather than the separate event of Ballaster's destruction that it was, she never stopped to think what it could mean that Talaga's main garrison might have just been demolished. The ramifications as to the loss of Margate and his troops and the light this would cast on the depth and scope of any conspiracy set against her - all this was lost on her in her panicked confusion, even the revelation that this meant Margate could not be any part of Uroza's plot.

And so on she ran.

Sometimes she stuck to the paths and other times she threaded her way between trees in the dark forest, always alert for any sign of pursuit. These trails and woods all looked very different at night, and she would have thought so even had she been in her right mind. She'd been this way before, and on some level she recognized this fact even if she couldn't fully appreciate it. Emerging from the trees, she paused, glancing up a path that ascended up out of the woods to a high spot overlooking the south shore. Regelline shuddered. She knew she could not go that way. Bad things happened to rats up there. She couldn't remember exactly what, but it was a place to be avoided. And so she turned her steps back toward the woods, farther inland and away from this place of unrecalled horrors.

Somewhere at the back of her mind some dire misgivings as to her current vulnerable state tried to make themselves heard, but they were just background noise to her now, and nothing to concern her immediately. For it was night, and perhaps she was this very moment being stalked by some unknowable number of hunters, and the only chance she had of keeping herself alive was to elude them. That was the important thing now: to keep herself alive, from those who posed the most immediate threat.

A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her, making her eyelids heavy and her legs sluggish. Another voice in her wavering memory whispered something to her about not falling asleep when suffering from a concussion, but that very concussed state kept her from heeding that mental warning. Unable to force another step from her flagging reserves of energy, Regelline sank down against the base of the nearest tree and curled up under some bushes there, quickly falling fast asleep in the pleasant subtropical night within her providential hideaway which might keep her safe through to the dawn.


	78. Chapter LXXVII

**LXXVII.**

 **TALAGA**

"Who goes there?"

Uroza, hobbling along the dark forest path as best he could with Rupart clutched in his arms, halted at once upon hearing that familiar voice, knowing it was norat to fool around with. Fortunately, he also happened to be her superior, and acted at once to establish his identity, so as to avoid any potentially lethal misunderstandings here.

"Torabi. I was just on my way to see you."

The posture of the shadowy figure blocking the trail before him instantly changed, relaxing from tense alertness and then stiffening again, this time with observant attention. "Spymaster! I was just coming to look for _you_. What is going on? Those explosions … "

"The rebels anticipated us, and struck first, under cover of darkness. Both the _Darksky_ and Fort Ballaster are destroyed, likely with few survivors from either. They also attacked the Governor's mansion, which has been extensively damaged."

The female spyrat stood aghast at this report; she'd surmised that some major disaster or engagement must be underway, especially when the two larger blasts had reached her here so far from the coast, but had been reluctant to leave her assigned post to investigate. Only the knowledge that both the Queen and the Spymaster himself were currently on Talaga and possibly in need of assistance had finally stirred her to venture forth, and then only to encounter one of the very rats she sought a mere few hundred paces from her inland lodge.

But news of the assault on the Governor's mansion now filled her with grave concern. "The Queen?"

"She survived the fusillade, but may be suffering some manner of disorientation or dementia. She assailed me when I tried to aid her, then fled into the night, I know not where. I am injured, Torabi. Take me to your headquarters, so that any wound can be more properly treated."

"Yes. Of course, Spymaster." She turned and started back the way she'd come, setting a measured pace so Uroza could match it without undue distress. Glancing back at the bundle her master cradled, she asked, "Is that … ?"

"The Prince, yes. The Queen fled without him in her mania to get away from me. So perhaps all is not lost."

Torabi's "headquarters" were in truth little more than a modest cabin situated on the border between wild woodlands and cultivated plains. It was from here that she - and her less successful and ill-fated predecessors - had spearheaded efforts to contact the cormorants and open negotiations with them. The lodge's location, well away from Talaga Village or the harbor or Fort Ballaster, had been chosen as a place where the savage seabirds could approach their bargaining partners without fear of meeting with massed armed opposition … which was how several of Uroza's negotiators had lost their lives in gruesome fashion in the early phases of treating with the cormorants. Nobird had approached the cabin in aggression or violence for some time, now that they'd been supplied with another outlet by which to release their pent-up hostility toward ratkind, so Uroza felt safe in coming here in his hour of need.

Besides which, cormorants did not fly at night - a fact of which Grabbrack had reminded Uroza several times during these events.

Two junior Bureau rats, Marlpit and Drauth, met them at the lodge's door, both surprised to see their Spymaster dragging himself across their threshold with his injury and his burden. Marlpit, the most skilled at healing among them, washed, stitched and redressed Uroza's leg wound while Torabi and Drauth did what they could to make the fussing infant comfortable.

"I think he'll need a feeding soon," Torabi ventured.

"You would know more of that than I," Uroza grunted as Marlpit tightened the new bandages into place on his stabbed thigh.

Torabi was taken aback. "Just because I am female … he needs a nursemaid. Or his mother."

"The Queen is currently unavailable, and would likely be in no state to nurse the Prince even if we knew where to find her."

"Then get him to Demetria, or one of the other midwives."

"Midwives deliver babes, they don't nurse them. But as it happened, I was on my way to seek Demetria's counsel on the matter when Fort Ballaster exploded. The blast levelled all the residences built in close proximity to the fortress, so I fear she and all her fellow midwives who dwelt along that ridge with her are now dead."

"Then we must find a suitable wet nurse from the village," Torabi proposed. "There must be one available, among all the families that reside there."

"One would assume so," Uroza agreed. "But that very village may be under attack even as we speak. In the dark of night, it would be too difficult to tell friend from foe. We cannot return until daybreak, when we may better assess the situation. You'll need to deal with this the best you can, Torabi."

The female rat looked at a loss. "I … I cannot help with this, Spymaster. Not with this. It is a matter of … nature."

"Then the Prince goes hungry until the dawn. Marlpit, how does he look to you? Is he in any distress beyond his hunger?"

The rat in question had moved on from dressing his Spymaster's leg to examining the royal babe. "All looks fine to me, sir. A few scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious."

"Ah. Good. Good." Uroza rubbed at his leg around the bandaged wound, which was already beginning to itch - both an annoyance and an encouraging sign. "Have any cormorants been by here tonight?"

This question surprised all three of the spyrats. "Why would they?" Torabi asked. "They do not move about between nightfall and dawn."

"Not normally. But Grabbrack himself made an exception and sought me out shortly before the attack began. It turns out some of his birds spotted the rebel fleet yesterday, just to the north of Talaga, but didn't tell their chieftain about it until after our meeting with him, when he returned to his flock and put out the word to them. Too late for us to do anything about it; the rebel assault teams must have struck out for the isle around dusk, to have arrived when they did. In any case, I thought Grabbrack might fall back to this spot once all the larger explosions began. It could be they got him so flustered that he flew all the way back to his side of Talaga, or so disoriented that he curled up in a ball somewhere to wait for his senses to recover."

"How did he seem?" Torabi inquired. "Normally I am always there when he treats with rats, since I'm the one who worked with him so intensively to earn his trust."

"Helpful, at least at first. Then, when the Governor's mansion came under attack, he became almost gleeful about the situation, greatly pleased with the spectacle of rats killing rats. I sensed he might be content to sit back and watch the two sides decimate each other, without taking any part in this conflict himself."

"Do you think we can still count on him in our larger strategic aims?" Torabi paused before voicing her next thought. "Do you suppose our hard-fought alliance with the cormorants might be imperiled?"

"Tempted as I am to conclude that his performance in this first test does not bode well, the test has not truly come yet. None of us ever guessed the rebels would anticipate us and strike first under cover of darkness - or to the extent they did, targeting multiple points at once - when our new winged allies would not be suited to help us repel the attack. No, we will wait until daybreak to gauge their true mood and assess their spirit of cooperation … and then we'll see whether they're the partners in arms we need to take Talaga back."

00000000000

As far as he knew, Deputy Harbormaster Hattar was the highest searat authority remaining on Talaga.

It was the explosion up at the Governor's mansion that had roused him from his light slumbers. Not long after, Harbormaster Rovtar had raced past Hattar on his way to muster Antris and the crew of the _Darksky_ , stopping only momentarily to explain something about a rebel attack and that Spymaster Uroza wanted all available fighters ashore to repel a possible land assault, and that Voccola had been dispatched to Fort Ballaster to alert Captain Margate of the situation. And then Rovtar was past, racing out along the pier even as a second explosion rocked the Governor's mansion.

The port barracks were fairly small, and all within had already been awakened by the commotion, so Hattar had them armed and dressed and out onto the beach in short order … and then the _Darksky_ exploded, taking out most of the dock and, presumably, Rovtar and Antris along with her. Which left Hattar's meager force as the only thing protecting Talaga's beaches from an enemy invasion, at least until Voccola and Margate could arrive with reinforcements.

Seeing that the frigate's explosion had apparently driven the bizarre enemy ship onto a sand bar, effectively stranding her for the moment, Hattar led his rats down to the tideline closest to the weaponship to stand against her. But the rebel rats aboard made no move to disembark or stage any sort of landing, and Hattar's force was armed mostly with blades and pole arms, unable to engage at this distance. A few bore crossbows, and brought them to bear now, but their shots proved ineffective at claiming even one of their adversary's crew, and after numerous failed volleys Hattar ordered his bowrats to save their remaining bolts in case a land invasion truly was imminent.

And then there was the fleetrunner, flitting about around the enemy vessel. At first Hattar assumed it was one of Uroza's, staffed by the Spymaster's agents who sought to board the weaponship and overwhelm her crew. But then to his disbelief the two craft tied up together, the smaller spyboat acting like a tug to free the bombardier on the rising tide. After that demonstration, Hattar had no doubt that the fleetrunner too was in enemy paws, somehow captured by the rebels who'd managed to blow the _Darksky_ , perhaps using that very same fleetrunner to do so, since Hattar had not seen any shot directed toward the frigate from the war engine which had opened fire on the Governor's mansion.

And then, as the liberated weaponship untied and headed out to sea, escaping without being made to pay for her atrocities here, her smaller companion hove toward the still-afloat _Deeprunner_ to cause whatever mischief to the lilting ironclad that she could. And this night was just getting worse and worse …

Into this rumination of frustrated despair blasted the death of Fort Ballaster, demolishing any and all hopes Hattar cradled to deliver himself and Talaga from this unfolding nightmare. Perhaps Margate had managed to get himself and at least some of his troops out of the fortress before that calamity, but if not, he and maybe even Governor Voccola himself were no longer alive to call upon for assistance and backup, to rely upon to help hold Talaga from rebel conquest.

It was with some slight relief that Hattar beheld the enemy fleetrunner following the larger enemy ship out of the harbor after stopping briefly at the _Deeprunner_ without assailing her crew or trying to capture the ironclad. Perhaps Uroza and Rovtar had been mistaken in their fears of an all-out invasion, for if such was coming, surely these rebel craft would not flee the scene of their treachery in such a fashion, would they? It almost seemed they were content with the destruction they'd wrought here, and now withdrew with their mission accomplished. Which might bode well for Hattar's chances of holding off any massed assault he was ill-equipped to meet, but …

The Deputy Harbormaster - now, he presumed, Talaga's Harbormaster proper, not that there was much left of it to oversee at the moment - spun slowly on the beach sand under his footpaws to take in the devastation all around him. The Governor's mansion overlooking the bay now stood half-collapsed and smoldering, with no way of knowing whether the Queen herself had survived the attack; had that been the only target of destruction, Hattar might be running up that way himself to see what assistance he could render. But there was also Fort Ballaster, whose casualty list likewise remained a mystery at this juncture; did either Margate or Voccola still live, and if so, were they in any shape to exercise their authority or play any role of leadership in events yet to come? If some question remained as to the fate of all these figures, none remained in Hattar's mind as to the fates of Antris and Rovtar; neither the Harbormaster nor the first mate of the _Darksky_ could possibly have survived the explosion of the frigate, so massive that it had not only torn the warship in half but also demolished most of the pier, capsized the fleetrunners tied up to it and left the _Deeprunner_ apparently crippled. No, Rovtar and Antris were dead, they simply had to be, which left Hattar as the ranking rat on the scene, unless or until Margate or Voccola arrived to take command of the situation.

And what of the Queen? For that matter, what of Uroza? Rovtar had said only that Voccola had been sent to muster Margate's soldiers, with no mention made as to whether the Spymaster had accompanied the Governor, or gone off somewhere else, although where that might be Hattar couldn't begin to guess. Uroza too might very well be dead, or he might be entirely unscathed, or any state in between - which fit well with the dark rat's cultivated air of unknowability.

Hattar decided then and there that he must proceed as if the Spymaster had indeed survived, and might appear out of the night at any moment to take stock of how the Deputy Harbormaster had acquitted himself in this emergency. As unforgiving as Regelline or Voccola or Margate might be under such circumstances, Uroza resided in a separate class all his own, and must be placated at all costs. Thus, Hattar adjusted his mental outlook through the prism of but a single overriding question: _What would Spymaster Uroza have me do?_

During the standoff with the temporarily-stranded weaponship, Hattar had put out a call for dinghies and fishing rowboats to be brought to bear so that they might row out to take the battle to the enemy. That rebel ship was now gone now and beyond his reach, but Hattar saw another use to which the summoned dinghies could be put to the benefit of all.

"You, you an' you!" He pointed to three of his underlings, each standing alongside a commandeered rowboat. "Get out to th' _Deeprunner_ , an' bring her crew ashore. Looks like they're in distress, an' got no way of gettin' off that iron tub on their own. We'll need their numbers t' bolster our own, in case there's any more trouble. An' once you're done that, we c'n see about pickin' up any survivors from th' _Darksky_ , or those two overturned fleetrunners. Gotta save all our mates we can!"

A glow of satisfaction settled over Hattar as he saw his rats jumping at his command, pushing off in their makeshift rescue fleet and striking out toward the _Deeprunner_. No protocol existed for any calamity such as this, no drill or exercise had ever taken such an eventuality into account, so the response had to be entirely improvised according to each commander's best judgment - and Hattar felt certain now that Spymaster Uroza could find no fault with his actions here. His responsibility was the harbor, its pier and beach and waterfront, and now fellow searats within that sphere needed his aid - and what was more important than lending aid and possibly saving the lives of his comrades in arms?

Even as the first of his dispatched rescue boats nosed up to the _Deeprunner_ , shouts and screams from farther north along the crescent bay shore broke into his reverie, shattering his momentary sense of triumph. Leading a small knot of his harbor guard up the sand and onto the bayfront concourse, he glanced toward the ruckus to see what it could be.

Numerous residents of the village had naturally turned out of their homes to play spectator to the night's unprecedented events, as much to see if their own safety was in any immediate danger as to be bystanders and curious onlookers, morbidly fascinated by this disaster. Now, dark and desperate figures emerged out of the night, blades flashing to cut down any rats standing in their way - hardly a challenge, with most of their victims being unarmed and taken completely by surprise.

Hattar gnashed his teeth and led his small squad into the fray at the sight of this massacre-in-the-making. It seemed the battle for Talaga was not yet over after all.

 **THE** _ **REDFOAM**_

Dawn had finally tinged the eastern sky, brightening the heavens from gray to blue, by the time Tropsa brought _Fleetrunner Eleven_ up alongside the _Redfoam_. Cordato stood at the galleon's starboard railing, eager to hear from his fellow rebel captain how things had fared at Talaga … and more than a little anxious over the absence of the _Goodwill_.

Cordato was surprised to see Latura climbing up the rope ladder to board along with Tropsa, eyes widening at the prophetic ratmaid's unexpected appearance on the fleetrunner. "Lattie?! What're ya doin' here? How'd ya fall in with Tropps?"

"Funny you should use that choice o' words," Tropsa said as he gained the topdeck, reaching behind him to help Latura aboard as well.

"Big blast knocked me off th' shipkiller," she explained. "Rolled right off o' her onta th' liddlefastboat, then kept rollin' right inta th' water! Sploosh! Cap'n Pretend Darkrat was there t' fish me out!"

"Well, that was convenient, an' lucky." Cordato's gaze went to Tropsa. "An' just where were you when this happened, with yer two craft so close t'gether?"

"That woulda been in Talaga Bay, just off th' beach - right around th' time our mouse friend got 'imself grounded in the shallows."

Cordato quailed. "Tell me we ain't lost our shipkiller. Please tell me that."

"Nay, that's th' good news. We got 'er free, an' she actshully made it outta th' bay 'fore we did. Passed 'er on th' way back - her masts oughta be clearin' the horizon any moment now."

"So he brought 'er right inta Talaga's harbor, an' right up to th' beach? What in seafoam for?"

"T' get a clear shot at th' place the Queen was stayin'."

Cordato gasped in spite of himself, surprised but not surprised at the mouse's bold audacity. "He did that?"

"Aye, he did."

"An' … did 'ee get her? Finish her off?"

"No way t' tell. That manse was in a wreck an' a shambles by th' time he was done with it, but she coulda got out. Mebbe she did, mebbe she didn't. But if 'ee was lookin' t' make a point, I'd say 'ee made it."

"Yah - 'cept if she still lives, she'll be mad as a hornet, an' out fer blood. He may've gone an' stirred up a tempest we'll not be able t' handle."

Tropsa grinned. "Good thing then we didn't leave 'em much t' strike back with - not even their ironclad!"

"You destroyed it?"

"Damaged enuff that she'll not be seaworthy anytime this season, or so claimed her crew. Begged me fer a lift when I poked my nose over t' investergate, but you know how it is - ain't no reg'lar crewrats allowed on Uroza's spyboats!"

"Yah, right. So, what other damage didja do?"

"There was only one big naval ship in th' harbor, a frigate, so we mined her while Cap'n Mousey was distractin' their crew. Her blast when she went off was what made Lattie take her tumble, an' drove our shipkiller aground. Went up just as fine as th' _Skyburn_ or th' _Gullslayer_ , split in two an' halfway sunk when we was done with 'er. Took out most o' the pier - no other ships're gonna be dockin' at Talaga until they've done two seasons' worth o' repairs to that harbor - an' flipped th' two fleetrunners tied up there too."

"Hm. Don't suppose Spymaster Uroza mighta been on one of 'em, an' got 'imself drowned?"

"Asked Lattie 'bout that, an' she couldn't say one way or the other. Same goes fer th' Queen too."

Lattie nodded in affirmation. "All … confused."

"Hmm … well, if we ended up takin' out both th' Queen an' Uroza, then maybe our mouse friend was right, an' this was a gambit worth takin'. That'd shake the Empire to its core, an' send it reelin', whether Tratton ever returns or not."

"So," Tropsa probed, "I take it those weren't your orders, fer him t' go after th' Queen with th' shipkiller, like he claimed?"

"Oh, is that what he toldjer? Nay, I never ordered any such thing; that was all his idea, sneakin' away t' do it without my leave. So, how many o' those big arrows did 'ee shoot at th' Queen's place?"

Lattie threw up her arm before Tropsa could reply, hopping eagerly from one footpaw to the other. "Ooo! Ooo! OooOooOoo, I know! T'was three! Answer's three!"

Cordato snorted, and not just at Latura's antics. "So that leaves two. Two bolts, t' sink th' whole rest o' Tratton's Fleet when they come after us."

A look of consternation crossed Latura's face. "Naw … don't think you'd be able t' do _that_."

"I'd say that mouse 'as put us in a bit of a predicament, he has, an' has earned 'imself a stern talkin' to when he gets back. Um … he _is_ plannin' on comin' back an' not runnin' away, right?"

Tropsa grinned again. "Aye, I'd say 'ee's got no choice, since we got Lattie. Asked fer her back, he did, but I made sure t' keep her on my fleetrunner, fer leverage. He needs her t' make his shots, whether he's got one arrow left or a hunnerd!"

"Couldn't fit a hunnerd on th' shipkiller," Latura idly mused. "Ain't big enuff."

Leaving the topic of Ramjohn and the _Goodwill_ for the moment, Cordato asked, "An' what of Fort Ballaster, an' Scarnaty's party? We heard an even bigger boom out here followin' th' first, so I c'n partly guess what happened, but I notice y' ain't towin' his dinghy."

"Aye, we got Ballaster a'right. Dunno whether any of th' troops had time t' get out or not, but when that place blew, t'was like a score o' dreadnaughts all goin' off at once. Musta been storin' enuff stormpowder there fer th' whole Fleet. We pulled around to th' north shore once we left th' bay t' see if anyrat needed a pickup, but all we found was a few survivors - none of 'em ours."

"Survivors?"

"Aye, most of our team was able to get themselves an' all the freed prisoners out before the explosion - only fer part of th' blasted fortress t' fall right down on top of 'em as they sheltered on th' shoreline below it. Most of the victims were crushed outright, but a pawful survived with modest injuries, an' they're th' ones who filled me in on all that happened. Rubble sunk their dinghy, but that wouldn'ta mattered anyway, 'cos most of th' able-bodied ones had already left t' stage an attack on th' village."

"Oh? Pretty bold of 'em, even with so many of Talaga's defenders taken out. So our mates went with 'em?"

"That's what I was told. Dunno whether our raiders plan t' stick with the fight all th' way, or break off an' fade back to our rendezvous point to the west. Rostand was leadin' 'em, by all accounts." Tropsa paused. "From what I gathered, Scarnaty an' a few others never made it outta Ballaster t'all. Musta been them that stayed behind to make sure th' place blew."

"Hmm. Too bad. But they knew th' risks goin' in … an' they could just as easily have gotten themselves all killed without accomplishin' any of this mission, so I guess we gotta call it a success, no matter th' losses."

Potdar, standing close to the two captains, reminded them, "Hey, t'was mostly my woodland rats who made up that assault team. Let's not dismiss their sacrifice so blithely, huh?"

" _Yer_ woodland rats?" Tropsa shot back. "I seem t' recall at least half of 'em came from that overturned tub we raided when we seized th' shipkiller, an' one or two even came from th' Mainstaker. What, ye're layin' claim t' _all_ th' land rats we've taken inta our rebellion?"

"Sure, an' why not? They all look t' me, as their rankin' woodlander. An' you both seem content enuff havin' it that way, last I heard."

"That was 'fore we started takin' so many more on, to th' tune of another two ships' worth. An' the only reason ye're th' rankin' anything is 'cos you an' yer cronies from yer old robber band put yerselves over an' above all th' rest right from th' start."

"Course we did - 'cos we're th' ones who hatched the scheme to get us all free when the sickness laid low th' _Redfoam_ 's crew, an' carried it out. If not fer us, you'd all still be in chains, or more likely dead, since there woulda been norat t' feed you if not fer us an' Lattie. Ye're fursodden right we took charge right from th' beginnin', 'cos we _were_ in charge!"

"Until y' tried t' shoot me with a flare," Cordato pointedly reminded the land rat. "Still ain't sure I've entirely fergiven you fer that, but since it allowed us searats t' take rightful command of th' _Redfoam_ , I'll overlook it. Point now is, between takin' out the frigate an' the ironclad, Talaga's got no immediate forces that could chase us down or challenge us at sea. Capsizin' the two fleetrunners an' destroyin' their dock leaves 'em no way t' get word out as to what's happened here. An' if we did kill most or all of Ballaster's troops, then there'll not be many defenders left t' challenge us on Talaga itself neither. Even if Uroza an' the Queen did survive, they'll be too worried about defendin' the village from further attack an' safeguardin' their own lives to go lookin' fer trouble." A beaming smile lit Cordato's features. "We came to Talaga t' resupply ourselves with food an' drink, an' now I'd say there's little t' stop us from doin' 'xactly that. Looks like this might be shapin' up well fer us after all!"

Palter, turned out from belowdecks to receive the returned raiders, made his way over to Latura's side. "Hey, Lattie, glad y' made it back safe. Sounds like you were in th' middle of it all."

The ratmaid stared at him blankly for a dozen heartbeats, trying to place his face and voice, then gave a grin of recognition. "Oh hey Paltryrat! You missed a lot. All kindsa stuff happ'nin' on that isle. Shoulda been there!"

A cry from Trovato, just starting his morning turn up in the crow's nest, alerted them to the _Goodwill_ 's approach. "Ship ahoy! Red, green an' black!"

"Is it ours?" Cordato shouted up, although he really didn't expect any different answer.

Trovato took a few dozen heartbeats before calling back down, "Aye, it's th' shipkiller!"

Tropsa looked smugly superior. "See? Toldja our mouse would come runnin' back to us. Got noplace else t' go!"

"He'll wish 'ee did," Cordato growled. "Once I get 'im aboard, I'll have some choice words fer that impudent half-rat, an' he's not gonna like 'em one bit!"

 **TALAGA**

By daybreak, the skirmishes in and around Talaga Village had settled down to a very low-key and scattershot affair. After the first miniature massacre of villagers, those who could retreated back into their homesteads and barricaded their doors against the barbaric, vengeance-minded marauders, even as Hattar rallied his scant Harbor Guard to meet this threat as best he could. Rostand and the remnants of his assault team, quickly seeing that they lacked both the numbers and the arms to decisively overwhelm the bayfront defenders - with searat reinforcements rowing their way back in from the _Deeprunner_ \- fell back up through the settlement, losing themselves in the lanes and alleys between buildings as they struck out for the more sparsely populated region beyond the village itself. Some of the prisoners-turned-battlers followed along as a matter of course, and soon the former rat soldiers from Urthblood's forces were dispersed throughout Talaga Village, clashing with searats wherever the enemy could be found.

The losses on both sides were dreadful.

Resting at a safe remove from all this melee was Grabbrack. The explosion of the _Darksky_ had rattled him more than he'd allowed Uroza to see, but the detonation of Ballaster's stormpowder reserves had hit the cormorant a hundred times worse. Birds needed their sensitive hearing and sense of balance for flying, so even had the avian chieftain not been averse to taking to the air at night under normal circumstances, flight now was out of the question, his inner equilibrium shattered by the concussion of the fort's destruction. And so, after Ballaster had blown, Grabbrack waddled inland, away from the bay and village, to nestle down into the trees away from all the rats who seemed intent upon annihilating each other.

And while Grabbrack secretly delighted in the rat-upon-rat mayhem and carnage, and truly wished he could be on talon to see it all with his own eyes, he had to admit that it posed some undeniable inconveniences - such as finding himself stranded on their half of the island as they went at each other's throats, with no way for him to flee safely back to his own nesting grounds. If either side should decide that cormorants were now their enemy …

At some point in the hours before dawn, Rostand's crew pushed their way through the underbrush not far from where the cormorant sheltered, causing the bird to huddle down even closer to the ground to make himself as unobtrusive in the darkness as he could. But the rebel rats had other things on their minds, and never noticed Grabbrack even as they passed within a few dozen paces of the cormorant's hiding spot.

The coming of dawn transformed the warbird from an apprehensive shelter-seeker to the master of the skies he truly was. Rested and recovered, Grabbrack broke from his leafy cover to spread his wings and flap upward as soon as he deemed it bright enough to do so. His flock would no doubt be in an uproar, having heard the massive explosions clear across Talaga and wondering how their absent chief fared in the midst of that tumult, and he knew he must return quickly to reassure them and reassert his authority over any who might view this as an opportunity to replace him. But first …

Before striking out to the west, Grabbrack circled over the village and harbor, his keen eyes taking in the scene among the rats' domain. The devastation was appallingly delightful, from the sundered _Darksky,_ shattered dock, overturned fleetrunners and floundering _Deeprunner_ to the half-collapsed and smoking Governor's mansion - and that wasn't even taking into account the demolished fortress to the north, and the additional structures taken out by the massive blast.

And then there were the bodies. Everywhere he looked, corpses lay strewn upon the ground, from the beach and concourse overlooking the harbor and on up into the village itself. Fighters from both sides felled in battle, bodies washing ashore from the _Darksky_ , and family rats too, taken outdoors unawares and caught in the previous night's violence. Grabbrack's heart soared to match his wingborne form. Even were his alliance with the searats to survive this debacle, they had suffered heavily this night just passed, and that made him glad, for had not the searats visited similar death and destruction upon his own kind over the seasons?

But the fighting was not all over yet. As he studied the panorama below him more closely, Grabbrack saw small pockets here and there where the clashes continued. And, looking more closely still, it was easy to tell the searats from the rebels by their clothing … or, in some cases, lack thereof.

It was then that Grabbrack decided what he and his birds must do, and he would not need to consult with Uroza or Torabi or any other searat about it. It was, after all, only what they'd been doing all along. This would prove to the searats that the cormorants were the allies they needed, and gloss over any secret pleasure the birds took in seeing Tratton suffer these losses.

His mind made up, Grabbrack turned and flapped westward, to drum up his flock.

00000000000

Pain.

Silvery brightness assailed Regelline's eyes when she dared to crack them open, stabbing through into her brain like dull daggers. The sun still lurked below the horizon, and the woods around her muted the morning light to a degree, but this all made little difference to the Searat Queen in her present state. Her head hurt, and as she passed fully from concussed slumber into wakefulness she became painfully aware that many other parts of her hurt as well.

For a while she lay on the ground under the trees, marshaling her strength and attempting to assess the severity of her injuries. As she did so, fragmented memories of the previous chaotic night shook and settled back into place in her mind. Vaguely, disjointedly but with growing clarity she recalled the attack on the Governor's mansion and her glimpse of the offending weapon ship carrying it out … and Trushar lying dead beneath her, but not before informing her that Harmata had also been killed … and, most of all, her encounter with the Spymaster, who'd braved venturing into the flaming wreckage himself to seek her out, for whatever nefarious purposes she could only guess. But she'd put him in his place, planted a blade in him to deny him his dark goal, and left him unable to follow as she fled into the heart of Talaga, far from his immediate reach.

Which left her … where? Summoning reserves of internal fortitude, she sat up to better view her surroundings, holding a paw to her head to guard against the swimming vision and vertigo the movement caused her. She was somewhere in the woods, which made sense, if she'd sought to escape both Uroza and any of his agents he might have out looking for her. Norat else was in sight, nor could she see any signs of habitation; only a trail not far from her present position hinted at any development or civilization at all. Only then, after having pieced together the events of the night before, did the full impact of what was missing hit her.

 _Where was Prince Rupart?_

Regelline castigated herself. How could she have left her babe behind in the ruins of the Governor's mansion? Well, actually she knew exactly how: Uroza had likely come to kill her, and perhaps for the very purpose of taking the Prince from her. If she'd stayed to put up any more of a fight, or tarried to try to locate her son amongst the wreckage, she might not be alive right now. She might not have been thinking entirely cogently in the heat of the moment, but she'd been thinking clearly enough to appreciate her peril and flee while she could.

A possibility struck Regelline then which saddened her on several levels - namely, that the Prince might not still live himself. After all, if Trushar and Harmata had both been killed in the attack, and she herself injured to an extent she had yet to fully determine, it was entirely possible a mere babe had perished in that catastrophe. The future of the Empire, and her legacy …

She drove these thoughts from her mind. For now, she had to think only of herself, and how she was going to get out of this. For the briefest moment she considered going to Demetria, reasoning that if Rupart had survived he would be taken there - but then she realized that, if Uroza did mean her harm, that's exactly where he would be waiting for her. No, anything having to do with the Prince would have to wait, until she'd sorted out other matters first.

It wasn't until she made to stand that she realized she was entirely ungarbed, and then only distantly remembered leaving behind her trapped nightgown when she fled from Uroza. No shame or embarrassment came over her, having spent so much time this past season in just her fur with Demetria and the midwife's assistants that it had almost become second nature to her. And while she hardly relished parading herself around in the open for all to see like this, she was the Queen, after all, and could command her subjects just as well unclothed as dressed in the finest of finery - those subjects who were still loyal to her over Uroza, at any rate. Thoughts of the Spymaster reminded her that she'd be parading nowhere, garbed or otherwise, but must instead sneak her way to salvation.

The question now became, which way would that be? From whom could she seek help that she might still be able to trust?

It was possible that Governor Voccola and Captain Margate and the other authorities on Talaga remained outside Uroza's influence and would honor and obey their Queen over the feared Spymaster. Then again, it was equally possible they were all under Uroza's claw and part of this conspiracy, especially if Uroza had told them - truthfully or untruthfully - that he acted on Tratton's orders.

But there was one faction who couldn't possibly have been turned against her, simply because it wouldn't have occurred to Uroza. If the harbor community had been compromised to its core by its corrupted overseers, she would ignore it, and round up a group of impartial protectors to stand at her side and perhaps even get her off Talaga altogether if need be.

Thus did Regelline strike out to the west, where she hoped to find deliverance in the farming stations, whose lowly field tenders and crop harvesters would almost certainly have been overlooked in the plans of those scheming against her.

She allowed herself a private smile of superior satisfaction as she crept from tree to tree, avoiding the open path. It was good to have her mind working properly again.

Regelline remained wholly unaware of the chaos roiling behind her in Talaga Village. Roused by Grabbrack, the cormorants had now joined in that battle, such as it was, helping the searat defenders dispatch the last of the rebels and escaped prisoners who'd chosen to stand their ground and press the fight. And now that those diehard combatants had been mostly dispatched, along with one or two searats inadvertently slain by the cormorants in their frenzied fervor, the bloodthirsty birds circled farther out from the heart of the settlement in search of other rebels who'd sought to flee to save themselves.

One of those winged battlers, circling over the woods well west of the village, spotted a movement below, a solitary figure creeping amongst the trees with suspicious stealth. A few glimpses was all the bird needed to determine that the lurking rodent wore no clothing whatsoever. Many of the enemy attacking the searats had been similarly ungarbed, for whatever reason, but even if this had been any other day, with no attack and no battle, the cormorants of Grabbrack's flock had long had one fact drilled into their barbaric brains.

Any unclothed rat moving through the wilds of Talaga was theirs.

Training and instinct kicked in almost automatically and, waiting for his unsuspecting target to enter a clearing which would leave his victim exposed, the cormorant went into a lethal power dive.

The impact took Regelline from behind, sending her sprawling. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, she found herself lifted from the ground entirely, clawed webbed talons hooked painfully into her shoulders to bear her weight. Glancing up at the feathered belly brushing the top of her head, she finally realized the true depth of her peril.

"Let me go!" she shrieked. "Release me at once!"

The bird made no reply as he bore her higher, and south.

"Release me, do you hear?! I am the Queen!"

This elicited a chuckle from the cormorant. "Queen of searats, sneaking through woods in just fur? Funny. Very funny."

"It's true! I swear it! The attack … forced to flee … nightgown torn free in wreckage … "

"Only rebel rats fleeing to woods. We make sure of that!"

"If any harm befalls me, Tratton will kill every cormorant on Talaga!"

This imperious threat seemed to give the bird pause for the merest of moments, but then the preposterousness of this desperate claim asserted itself in his mind again. Unclothed rats in the wilds of Talaga were theirs to do with as they pleased, and that was that.

They were climbing higher now, scarily high, with the southern shore looming dead ahead.

"Tratton will have your head over this! Release me now, I command you!"

"As Queenrat commands."

And then Regelline was falling, and screaming. Far below her, she saw the exact spot her slayer had chosen for this drop, and while that choice should not have surprised her, the inescapable certainty of what was about to happen to her filled her with a terror so complete she could not have imagined such existed. She screamed until she was in danger of passing out, unable to even close her eyes as she plummeted toward the lattice of fine dismembering wires.

When she hit, in the dead center of the lethal mesh, she passed right through as if it wasn't there, barely slowed. It was a display she no doubt would have favored as a spectator, as she had on numerous previous occasions, but as the victim she could not appreciate it nearly as much.

And then the cormorants circling in anticipation above swooped down as they always did, converging upon the royal carnage under the steel wires and squabbling amongst themselves even as they remained wholly ignorant of just whom they feasted upon.


	79. Chapter LXXVIII

**LXXVIII.**

 **THE** _ **REDFOAM**_

"Cap'n Mousey's bein' kinda … standoffish, ain't 'ee?"

"Aye, Lattie, that 'ee is," Cordato half-growled. "That half-rat's really startin' t' grate on me, he is."

When Ramjohn brought the _Goodwill_ in to rejoin the rebel fleet, he didn't come all the way in, opting instead to cut a wide, lazy circle around the other three vessels without drawing close enough to hail by voice, and ignoring all summons to come aboard the _Redfoam_ for the expected post-mission captains' meeting.

"What's 'ee playin' at?" Tropsa wondered aloud as he eyed the circling weaponship with suspicion. "I don't like it. Reckon he's plannin' sumpthin' 'gainst us?"

"Naw, he wouldn't - not with Lattie here aboard th' _Redfoam_. He still needs her to make that shooter of his work, 'member? 'Sides, he's down t' just two arrows left, an' wouldn't waste 'em on us an' leave 'imself defenseless. I wager he simply knows he's in fer a dressin' down, an' he's tryin' t' put it off fer as long as he can. An' makin' us wait like this while he's blatantly shunnin' us is his way o' showin' us he'll only come aboard on his terms, an' in his own good time."

Tropsa glanced skyward. "Well, I hope he don't put us off too long. Sun's already risen, an' we got raids t' stage t' get us th' food 'n' drink we came here to Talaga t' grab. Time's a-wastin'!"

After a few more leisurely laps around the _Redfoam_ , _Mainstaker_ and _Fleetrunner Eleven_ , Ramjohn finally brought the _Goodwill_ up alongside the galleon - although, to everyrat's surprise, he made no move to tie up to the larger ship for boarding, instead dropping anchor to hold himself several body lengths from the starboard hull. "Ahoy up there, an' good morning to ye - an' a good morning it is, with lots of searats sent to Hellgates overnight!"

"You got some explainin' t' do, mouse," Cordato yelled back. "An' I don't feel like shoutin' myself hoarse, so get yer tail up here so we can talk proper!"

"Too bad. I'm stayin' put. Kinda comfy an' cozy here, on my own ship. So say what ya gotta say, an' stop wastin' my ears!"

Cordato ground his teeth while beside him Tropsa fumed and Potdar scowled and Gramaton merely looked at a loss over this development. "What were ye thinkin', goin' off on yer own like that last night?"

"Just doin' what needed to be done, Cap'n. Since nobeast else seemed to have the stomach or spine for it."

"You disobeyed orders!"

"Nay, I didn't. You never said I couldn't go take care of the Queen on my own. An' in case you'd forgot, I'm captain of the _Goodwill_ , an' when it comes to that, I write my own orders!"

"Mebbe … but ye got a crew o' rats over there you need to help you run that contrapshun you call a ship. How willin' you wager they'll be t' follow yer command if they can never know for sure which of yer orders are mutinous?"

"We're all mutineers, 'member?"

"Yah. Whatever. But we still gotta hold a cap'ns' meeting t' figger out an' plan our next move. So tie up an' climb aboard, 'cos you gotta be part of it too."

"Naw, you go ahead an' have it without me. I can guess well enough what our next few moves have gotta be. Now, speakin' of that, send Lattie over here."

"'scuse me?"

"She's the only one who can accurately line up our shots with this shipkiller. I need her over here on th' _Goodwill_."

Realizing this was pretty much the only leverage he held over the defiant mouse, Cordato replied, "Actshully, I think we'll keep Lattie right where she is. Lots more comfortable here on th' _Redfoam_ , an' our Lattie deserves th' best, don't she?"

"Aw, that's mighty kind o' ye, Cap'n Cap'n, but th' shipkiller's got some nice soft bunks too, from when she was a mouse 'n' otter boat … "

"Hush, Lattie."

"Oh, uh, aye. Hushin'."

"You'll regret that," Ramjohn called over to the galleon, "if another searat warship shows up an' I ain't got Lattie with me t' help take 'er out."

"If another warship shows up, you'd better hope she's alone," Cordato countered, "'cos ye ain't got but two shots left. Where was yer mind, usin' up nearly all our ammunishun like that on a crazy bid t' go after the' Queen?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"We don't know that. Lattie can't say one way or the other whether Regelline still lives. Could be she survived."

"Pretty sure she didn't," Ramjohn asserted. "My three shots left that place a burning wreck. An' as for our lack of ammunition, I don't see that as a problem. We'll replenish that along with our food 'n' drink. Lotsa wooded areas on Talaga, from what I could see. Don't think that'll be an issue."

Cordato and the others couldn't believe their ears. "You wanna open up forestry an' timber operations here on Talaga?! This was s'posed to be a hit an' run raid, in an' out in just a day or two to fill our water barrels an' stock our larders!"

"That was before last night, an' the damage we did. And anyways, shouldn't take all that long. Pick out the first score of trees we find with nice straight trunks of the right height an' thickness, chop 'em down an' trim off the limbs an' branches, an' drag 'em aboard the _Goodwill_. Should only take a few days, tops. And then we'll have enough arrows to sink most of Tratton's remaining navy, if we make every shot count."

"Even a few days might be more'n we can spare, if Talaga musters its remainin' forces against us."

"What forces?" Ramjohn ridiculed. "We took out Fort Ballaster, we took out the frigate an' the ironclad an' both fleetrunners, *I* took out the Queen, an' we released a whole miniature horde of Urthblood's fighters on the village to cause seasons only knows what damage there. Don't even know whether your feared Spymaster made it outta that mess alive either. So … " The confident mouse leaned forward on his port railing. "We can pretty much do whatever we want, no matter how long it takes - because Talaga's ours now!"

Cordato grimaced. "Mebbe it is, an' mebbe it isn't - but we're about t' find out. Let's haul up our anchors an' make fer Talaga's north shore while th' day's still young. We'll see if Rostand an' any of the others were able t' make it to our rendezvous point … an' then we'll find out whether we've softened up Talaga half as much as you seem t' think we have!"

 **TALAGA**

"I would have thought they might have sought us out on their own by now."

Uroza and Torabi stood outside the female spyrat's station cabin along with her two junior subordinates, all four of them gazing expectantly up into the morning sky. Drauth waved a large white signal flag slowly back and forth, attempting to summon Grabbrack or some other cormorant, but while numerous members of that avian species could be seen flying here and there overhead, none had yet responded to the searats' overture, leaving the rodents guessing.

"Y' don't suppose that bird chief got caught up in the fighting himself," Marlpit wondered, "an' maybe got himself hurt - or worse?"

To which Uroza replied, "I suspect any foerat who encountered that warbird would have gotten worse than they gave. But that leaves the question of where he is now, and why none of his flock respond to us, since they're clearly active over eastern Talaga this morning. Let us hope the answer comes soon; we've been in the dark far longer than I like."

At length the cormorant chieftain himself dropped out of the sky to land before the waiting quartet. "Ah, spychiefrat. Did not think to seek you here." Grabbrack's gaze went to Uroza's bandaged leg. "Fare not so well in fighting?"

"There was an … altercation. But listen, we need to know what goes on around the village and harbor. What is the situation there?"

Grabbrack cawed triumphantly. "Creeeaack! Spychiefrat be very very happy with Grabbrack's flock! We enter battle, prove worth, slay enemy rats!"

"Battle? Who was fighting, and where?"

"Along beach, up into village, enemy rats fight searats. Many dead both sides, survivors locked in draw, until Grabbrack sends birds, then searats win! No victory without cormorants!"

"Who were these enemy rats? Where did they come from?"

"From north, down along coast then up into village. Easy to tell from searats. Some in different uniforms, some in other rags, many in just fur."

"That sounds like the prisoners from Fort Ballaster," Torabi said. "Urthblood's former soldiers. The rebels must have succeeded in releasing them before destroying the fortress, as you feared they might."

"And those fighters would be exceptionally dangerous, even in an unclothed and weakened state," Uroza assessed. "Given arms, they would most eagerly seek retribution against their jailers. None can be allowed to survive."

"Most dead, most dead," Grabbrack bragged. "Many killed in village, others flee to woods, we follow and slay. None escape, all be dead soon!"

"You should have waited to launch your attack until after consulting with me," Uroza told the cormorant. "The Queen is missing, and I do not want your birds targeting her by mistake."

"Not know where find spychiefrat. Confusing night, unable to fly, many loudbooms, rats running every whichway. Wait until dawn, then see battle, fly to bring flock to help searats fight badrats. What you wanted, no?"

"Yes, but you've found me now, and you must tell all your birds to have a care for the Queen. She may be injured and confused, and she was last seen without any clothes on herself. I do not want her attacked as an enemy. She must be returned to me safely."

Grabbrack cocked his head in puzzlement. "Why Queenrat not wear clothes?"

"It's a long story. As you said, it was a confusing night."

"Queenrat not know unclothed rats belong to us? Is deal agreed to."

"The Queen may not have been thinking clearly. Her residence was attacked by stormpowder and partly reduced to rubble, with her inside. She may have suffered head injuries."

"Perhaps in rubble still?"

"No. I saw her run out of the mansion. That's how I know about any of this. Her gown was caught on some wreckage, and came completely off when she broke free."

Grabbrack digested this. "Could be bad. Could be bad bad. All unclothed rats belong to us. This, all cormorants know. Many enemy rats already slain, in village and in woods. Queenrat stupid to go out unclothed."

Uroza stared intently at the bird. "Are you saying the Queen may already have been slain?"

"Many rats dead. Could be Queenrat dead too. How we to know which one Queenrat?"

"Because she would have _told_ you!" Torabi exploded, mortified.

Grabbrack glared over his beak at the female spyrat. "Cormorants attack fast, kill fast. Could be Queenrat slain before can say is Queenrat."

"And how would we determine whether such a thing has, in fact, happened?" Uroza coldly inquired of Grabbrack.

The bird considered this. "Hard to know," he conceded at last. "Would be hard to know."

"We'll assume for the moment that the Queen still lives," said Uroza. "You must get word out to all your flock, Chieftain, and as quickly as you can, not to molest or injure any unclothed female rats found wandering alone anywhere on eastern Talaga. Any one of them could be the Queen. She must be found and delivered safely back to me, if possible. This must be your highest priority."

"What of rebel badrats, and their boats? Supposed to attack them at daybreak."

"They rather beat us to it, didn't they? Where are they now?"

"Littleboat, boomshooter sail north to rejoin others, hold there now, as before."

"Hmm. Not running away. So they may not be done with us yet. Have your birds keep an eye on them, Chieftain, and alert us at once if they make any further move toward Talaga. Otherwise, devote all your efforts to finding the Queen, and safeguarding her if you can."

Grabbrack looked almost crestfallen at this directive. "Hoped to kill manyrats this day."

"Haven't you killed enough? If your bloodlust has not been sated yet, you may have further opportunity to do so before this is all over. But for now, do not engage or harry the rebel vessels out at sea. They must remain unaware of our alliance, so that if they attempt another landing, you can take them by surprise. You'll be able to kill a lot more of them if they don't know ahead of time to protect themselves from you."

Grabbrack gave a bill-clack of satisfaction. "Good thinking, spychiefrat. More dead rats always good thing."

"As long as they're not from our side," Drauth muttered.

"Go now," Uroza urged the cormorant. "Spread word to all your battlers to look for the Queen, and to take care with her if they encounter her. Find me at once if you discover her, or learn anything of her state or fate. This is the most important thing now."

"As you say." Deigning the Spymaster to be done with him - for he was certainly done with Uroza - Grabbrack spread his wings and took a running, flapping start to make himself airborne again, winging away from their rendezvous in no particular direction.

Torabi followed the bird's departure with worried eyes. "Sir … what if the Queen … really is … "

"Then there's nothing we can do about it now," came Uroza's dispassionate response. "Grabbrack will be able to tell us soon enough. Until then, we have other matters to occupy our attention. The Prince, first and foremost. Now that we know the fighting in the village has mostly died down, we must get him there and find a suitable nursemaid for him, since he has had a long and hungry night. With the Queen's health and status unknown, the Prince's welfare takes on even greater urgency."

None there were about to argue this, so they gathered up Prince Rupart and their weapons and struck out from the outpost to trudge their long way back to Talaga Village, their pace set by the lamed Spymaster. "Sir," Torabi asked with concern as they passed into the woods, "ought you be putting such a strain on your leg? It needs time to heal, and you dare not overexert yourself."

"It can't be helped," he dismissed as he stumped along, clutching Rupart to his chest. "Should I have remained behind in the cottage convalescing in the midst of this crisis? The King would have my head … if he won't already." Realizing his bumpy gait was only agitating the ratbabe further on top of an empty stomach, Uroza passed Rupart to Torabi. "Here, you take him. I can't deal with both him and an injured leg."

Torabi took the Royal heir with some hesitancy. "Sir, if I'm encumbered with a babe, my paws won't be free for weapons if we encounter trouble."

"No - but mine will. It's my leg that's injured; I'll still be able to wield my blades perfectly well."

"As you say, sir," Torabi accepted as she nestled the squirming, fussing Prince against her as best she could.

They reached the village by midmorning, passing several cormorant-slain rebels lying out on the open paths as they neared the settlement. Once they entered Talaga Village proper, the number of corpses strewn about on the smooth-stone lanes rose to levels almost alarming, and not all of the bodies were those of rebels. Nervous and frightened faces peered out at them from various cottage windows, the civilian survivors of the night's battle barricaded within their abodes until they knew for certain that their side had emerged victorious. Perhaps the sight of King Tratton's High Spymaster moving openly among them now reassured them in a way his presence might normally not have, even limping along on a bandaged leg to show that not even he had emerged from this debacle entirely unscathed, but if so, none turned out to greet or aid or cheer the dark rat as any kind of deliverer from this nightmare. This was Talaga, and things like this were not supposed to happen here. The blood and thunder of the Searat Empire was never to touch this idyllic retreat where officers' families could dwell in peace, plenty and security.

This night had shattered all of that, and Uroza wondered as he wended his way through the village whether Talaga would ever again know such peace of mind.

The fighting seemed to have completely wound down; either the rebels and escaped prisoners had been entirely mopped up, or else the addition of the cormorants to the fray had sent them running for their lives. Uroza and his escorts kept their wits about them, in case some might still shelter within domiciles whose owners they'd slain or taken hostage, or lurk in hidden corners of the village, but ultimately their caution proved unnecessary, for no foe emerged to challenge them.

Uroza decided to make for the Harbormaster's residence. It seemed highly likely Rovtar would not be making use of it again, and with the Governor's mansion half-demolished, this secondary residence represented the new focus of authority in Talaga Village and the logical choice for a working tactical headquarters from which to operate.

The Spymaster set himself up in the main office, where the wide bay window, panes now shattered by the previous night's multiple blasts, afforded a sweeping view of the harbor below … and the ability to spot any incoming rebel ships with plenty of notice to allow for evacuation. This was Uroza's first long and full look at the destruction of the night before, and he found the vista appalling. Due to the bay's shallowness, the shattered masts of the halved _Darksky_ still tilted up out of the water at crazy angles, and even some parts of the topdeck stuck up above the surface. That gave Uroza some hope that a larger portion of the frigate's crew might have survived as compared to the hapless souls aboard the _Skyburn_ and _Gullslayer_ , who'd met their treacherous fates out on the open sea with no beach sanctuary within swimming distance. Time would tell how many fighters he'd have at his command from that quarter.

Barely had he settled into his padded chair than Uroza dispatched Drauth and Marlpit on a twofold mission: first, to find if they could a nursing mother or wet nurse from somewhere in the village who could see to Prince Rupart's nutritional needs, and secondly, to see if any rat of any ranking authority whatsoever remained on the scene.

The two scouts met with prompt success on both fronts. A new mother by the name of Senatra was delivered to the Harbormaster's residence, where Uroza made it quite clear to her that refusing was not an option.

"B-but, Spymaster … I have my own little one to suckle … "

"So now you'll have two. Consider it a high honor, and high service to the Empire."

Senatra regarded the squirming Royal babe in Torabi's arms. "Well, I suppose I could make room for a second babe in my cottage, since the need is so great … "

Uroza shook his head. "The Prince stays under this roof, and under my watch, unless or until the Queen is found. You and your babe will be moving in with us, so that you may see to his needs without delay, and without having to be fetched every time he hungers. Pick a room and a bed and make yourself at home. Anything you require from your cottage will be collected and brought here for you - including your babe."

"As … as you say, Spymaster."

Torabi wasted no time in pressing the Prince upon Senatra. "Here, he's hungry. Better get right to work!"

Shortly thereafter, with ratmum and her newly semi-adopted babe sequestered away in a bedroom of the modest manse, Uroza and Torabi consulted with Assistant Harbormaster Hattar, who'd survived the night's fighting and was now presented to them as the ranking searat commander Drauth and Marlpit could turn up.

"Tell me what you know," Uroza ordered.

And so Hattar did, from the moment he'd first become aware of an unfolding crisis with the opening shot on the Governor's mansion and Rovtar rushing past him to evacuate the _Darksky_ , to the explosions of the frigate and Fort Ballaster and his squad's attempts to engage the enemy weaponship from the shore, followed by the staggered rescue of the _Deeprunner_ 's crew just in time for those rats from the ironclad to join the battle against the rebels attacking the village from the north. It also turned out that a number of survivors from the _Darksky_ had in fact made it to shore in any number of ways, and those who were in any shape to do so joined the fight to save Talaga Village.

"So," Uroza surmised upon hearing Hattar out, "we likely now have enough fighters to hold the village and harbor against further attack, but not enough to take the battle to the rebels elsewhere on Talaga."

"Further attacks?" This line of discussion confused Hattar. "Spymaster, sir, we cleaned 'em out! There ain't an enemy left alive 'tween tideline an' high ridge - or if there is, we'll soon have 'em rooted out of their holes an' properly slain! An' those vicious birds're goin' after any who made it outta the village alt'gether. None'll escape our vengeance, you c'n be sure o' that! Won't be any left t' stage any more attacks!"

"I regret to inform you that the rats you faced last night were largely, and perhaps exclusively, the escaped prisoners from Fort Ballaster's dungeons, freed and armed by the true rebels before setting the stormpowder reserves alight. The main rebel ship, the galleon _Redfoam_ , presumably carrying the bulk of their fighting forces, never even approached Talaga during this engagement. So, yes, they have many more resources to stage further incursions."

"Well, what of those birds?" Hattar asked. "We were all surprised when they joined th' fight at first light, but were we ever glad they did! Turned th' tide of battle, an' assured us of victory. Surely they'd be enuff t' defeat another assault?"

"Perhaps - and I would hold them in reserve for just such a scenario. But between the harbor, the village and the croplands, there remain too few of us to fully safeguard the entire island. Our priority must be holding the harbor and village secure until additional ships of the Fleet put into port here and can bolster our position. Assuming they can get through; these rebels have proven maddeningly adept at sewing confusion and striking blows against us in most unexpected manners. It is also vital that we get word out to the rest of the Empire of what has happened here, although at the moment I can't imagine how we'll go about doing so, with both fleetrunners wrecked. I would not yet trust our cormorant allies with such a sensitive and exacting mission; they would have no idea how to reach Terramort, if they could even fly so far, and I fear they're as likely to share news of our misfortune with trader vessels as our own ships, news which might then find its way back to Urthblood - hardly an ideal situation. Perhaps one of those capsized fleetrunners can be brought ashore and repaired to make her seaworthy again. Failing that, we are dependent upon help from the outside - an unenviable state of affairs."

"At least we have the Prince safe and secure," said Torabi, her face darkening with worry even as she voiced her relief. "You don't suppose that could be what the rebels were after, and that they may still try to seize him?"

"It's likely the rebels didn't even know Regelline was present, or had given birth," the Spymaster assessed. "Or, if they did, they might think he perished in the attack. If so, let them believe that. We will not tip our paw and allow them to discover he still lives."

"What … of th' Queen 'erself?" Hattar ventured. "You speak of her as if … "

"The Queen's present state is unknown," Uroza replied. "She was last seen disoriented and perhaps injured, fleeing from the wreckage of the Governor's mansion. She may have left the village altogether. I've instructed Grabbrack to have his cormorants be on the lookout for her. If she still lives, she will turn up, and if she doesn't … " He gave the barest ghost of a shrug.

And in that shrug Hattar saw what the Spymaster truly believed, and the fatalistic gesture chilled the Assistant Harbormaster to the bone even as it made his stomach perform a slow and queasy somersault.

"So … what're we t' do now, Spymaster?"

"For the sake of all the civilians - and to maintain necessary order - we must establish a new hierarchy of leadership on Talaga. And to that end, Hattar, I am promoting you to acting Governor."

"M-me, Spymaster? But … but I'm just Assistant Harbormaster!"

"The villagers saw you leading the fight against the rebels, so they'll accept you, and follow your lead. If either Voccola or Margate survived the explosion of Fort Ballaster and were in any shape to perform their duties, we would have heard from them by now. The same holds true for Rovtar, so I think we can safely assume all are dead. So, unless the Queen turns up and is in any state to assume command of the situation - " Uroza looked both Torabi and Hattar in the eye, " - that leaves the three of us as the highest remaining authorities on Talaga."

Shortly thereafter, Torabi and Hatter having left him to himself in his borrowed office, Uroza closed his eyes as he ruminated more fully upon the situation. He rubbed at his temples to soothe a budding headache, his leg wound throbbing with dull pain to match the mild pounding in his skull. From almost the first day of the Empire's founding, the rats of Tratton's realm had feared the Spymaster as an inscrutable figure of the shadows, the Searat King's most dangerous and trusted servant, commanding an ever-growing network of informants, agents and assassins all across the isles and beyond. He sat at the center spinning this vast web, the venomous spider rarely seen by lesser rats, his name always whispered in hushed tones by the Empire's subjects. It was an image and identity Uroza had labored hard to cultivate, but a large part of that reputation sprang from actual fact; the puppetmaster, aloof and removed from most direct crises that threatened the security of the Empire, working through spies and proxies to enforce the all-encompassing will of his master. Whatever misfortunes befell Tratton's domain, Uroza would always perform his services from a respectable remove, solving his master's problems from the safety of the shadows.

This past night had, for the very first time, thrust the sinisterly reticent Spymaster into the heart of conflict, and revealed him to other eyes as less than invincible.

With the citizens of Talaga having witnessed him limping through their devastated town, bandaged and disheveled, would he ever again command the same fear and respect among the Empire's subjects? Or had this forever shattered the image that he had striven so hard to foster in all his seasons as Tratton's right paw?

But any damage done to his reputation paled in comparison to the blow struck against the Empire itself. Multiple major vessels, including a dreadnaught, sunk or captured. Clucus dead, and his _Seabolt_ \- the ferret's crowning achievement - now in the paws of rebels who somehow wielded it with unerring precision. Half of Talaga in ruins, Fort Ballaster and all its troops wiped out, the _Deeprunner_ crippled perhaps beyond repair, and some of the most important commanders and officials in the Empire slain. As for the Queen... If Uroza's worst fears proved true, and if he was correct as to which creatures were to blame, he genuinely couldn't foresee what the future held for their alliance with the cormorants - an alliance bought with the blood of a loyal Governor and his family, along with several of Uroza's own most trusted Bureau rats. Tratton might in retribution issue an extermination order against the cormorants, to be satisfied only when every one of the vicious birds within his sphere of influence had been hunted down and slain.

If not for Prince Rupart's survival, Uroza feared the Empire might well have died this very night.

And Uroza had utterly failed to predict or forestall this disaster. How could those rebels have seized so many ships, and known how to strike just as they had? Only one possibility made any sense, and that was if Urthblood did indeed have some paw in shaping this catastrophe. But how could even that prescient badger, bogged down as he was with negotiations in far-distant Southsward, have conceived of this convoluted strategy and guided events from so far away? Uroza had suspected Urthblood might have smuggled some manner of agent aboard the _Redfoam_ before the galleon left Salamandastron, but even if true, that barely began to explain all the rebels had been able to achieve. And it strained credibility that his prophetic powers alone could account for a disaster on this scale. But if not Urthblood, then … who?

These losses loomed as all the more frustrating for having occurred just when the Empire seemed to be getting back on its feet, recovering from the damages sustained in their last war, when the badger had annihilated fully half of their naval power. New soldiers and sailors had been recruited, the new captains had proven their worth, Clucus had made great strides in adapting the searat war machine to withstand Urthblood's tactics, and Tratton's domains seemed to have stabilized in the aftermath of the Accord, in spite all the land rats sent by Urthblood in his suspected attempt to overwhelm and infiltrate the searat realm. To have all that work undone by another horrendous crisis …

How would Tratton react when he returned and learned what had happened? Would he blame Uroza for the Spymaster's inability to prevent it? If so, the dark rat's days might very well be numbered … and while he would willingly accept the blade if it came to that, he would do his best to convince Tratton that the Searat King needed him now more than ever.

Opening his eyes again, he stood and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the harbor, mindful of the shattered window glass underpaw. Rats skittered to and fro trying to assess and fix the damages inflicted upon them. That was good. The searats of Talaga - those who'd survived - must be kept busy, and not allowed to lie idle in shock or wallow in despondence over what had been done to them. They would fix this, they would recover, no matter how long it took or how formidable a challenge reconstruction presented. Searats did not slink away into a dark corner to whimper when the going got tough - not under his watch, or Tratton's. The Empire would rise from the ashes of the night's events stronger than ever. Uroza had no choice but to believe that it would.

And when it did, there would be Hellgates to pay for the rebels who had committed this atrocity - them, and anybeast else who had played any part at all in this most treacherous of attacks.

* * *

 _A/N: A special tip of the searat pirate's cap to Samadhir, for helping to draft the last few paragraphs about Uroza's internal ruminations. He felt the chapter needed a stronger ending, especially since we'll be leaving Talaga for a while after this, and he eventually persuaded me to come around to his point of view. So thanks, Sammy!_


	80. Chapter LXXIX

**LXXIX.**

 **FOXGUARD**

"I forgive you."

Vermilya sat across the table from Mona in the third-story office of Foxguard's Sword, regarding her fellow vixen with a mystified expression. "Forgive me … ?"

"Yes. For Sappakit. For the longest time, I held you responsible - or at least partly responsible - for what happened to him. But I know now that you were, in your own way, as much a victim as he was. One might question your judgment in that affair, or for that matter your judgment in associating with the likes of Joska and her sisters in the first place, but you have been exonerated by the very culprits behind that foul deed. They were most forthcoming in their guilt, when confronted with the proper incentive. Perhaps they mistakenly thought their confession would save them … but it has saved you."

The two females had Tolar's office to themselves for the present, the commander of the fox fortress seeing to business elsewhere. At Mona's request, Roxroy and Stillafax had escorted the valley horde vixen into the stronghold and upstairs for this meeting, their youth and earnestness helping to put Vermilya at ease. This choice stood in stark contrast to the weasels who'd performed similar duties for Iskra and Imara when seeing the doomed siblings downstairs to Foxguard's cellars for a meeting of a very different kind.

The present setting stood in contrast as well, summer sun streaming in through the windows and lending a warm and friendly glow to the conference room. Vermilya had entered and seated herself warily as the two junior swordfoxes withdrew to leave her alone with Mona, but the healer vixen welcomed her with a pleasant calmness maddeningly impossible to read. Not sure what to expect, the offer of forgiveness took Vermilya quite by surprise.

"You … don't have to remind me about any of this, ma'am … "

"Please, call me Mona."

"Um … Mona. I sat in your interrogation chair during that affair, and I remember it well … except for the parts where your potions clouded my memory. You can understand why I might've been reluctant to return within this fortress … especially after what happened with Joska and Jaffox."

"I do apologize for any unpleasantness you experienced during that occasion, and hope you can understand the necessity of such tactics from where we stood. I trust you find your current surroundings far preferable?"

"That depends on what happens in them, don't it? Am I … what do you intend here, ma'am?"

"Mona. Please."

"Mona … am I leaving this chamber alive?"

A look of pitying disappointment creased Mona's features. "Now, Vermilya, why would you even say something like that? Didn't you hear me say I forgive you?"

The other vixen squirmed somewhat nervously in her chair. "It's just … there've been rumors all over the place … about Jaffox, and Joska … and others … "

"Well, they are the true guilty parties, aren't they? And guilty parties don't fare well here at Foxguard. But now that your lack of having a paw in any of this has been proven, you have nothing to fear, and much to gain."

"Just … _how_ … was my innocence proven?"

"How do you suppose? The truly treacherous among us confessed their guilt, clearing you in the process. I would say you owe them a debt, but the greatest debt you owe is to yourself, for possessing the wisdom not to join them in their wickedness - at least not as anything more than an unwitting pawn."

"Where … are Iskra and Imara?"

"You'll do much better among us here if you never ask that question again."

Vermilya gulped, having heard all she needed to on that subject. "So, what happens now?"

"Now, I expect you to show me the proper gratitude."

"Gratitude?"

"Yes. For granting you my full and compassionate pardon, and in doing so allowing you to step out from under the cloud of suspicion which might otherwise have led to bad things for you. I'm sure you'll agree some gesture of appreciation is in order?"

"Uh, yes. Of course," Vermilya answered, not daring to disagree. "What would you have of me?"

"Many vixens remain outside our walls - vixens well known to you, having dwelt with them in Krayne's valley for the seasons you did. A number of them already took members of Tolar's brigade as bedmates, before Jaffox nearly ruined everything. Our swordfoxes miss their mates, and I for one would not see them denied. But if they are to be allowed back inside Foxguard, it must be with certain special understandings."

"What … understandings?"

"That Joska is dead, and there is only one head vixen left at Foxguard. I am the one they dare not risk displeasing now. They will be welcomed back, but as mates, nothing more. I want you to help me impress this upon them. They - and you - can still have your place at Foxguard … but that place will be what Tolar and I say it is. Am I clear?"

Vermilya nodded slowly. "I … yes. I understand. I will help you with this … Mona. It shouldn't be hard. Most of the others are used to having somebeast to look up to and tell them what to do, and were disappointed at being cast out. They'll want what you're offering. And …"

"Yes?"

"Do you … do you think I … might have another mate for myself as well?"

Mona put on an utterly unreadable smile. "That's rather up to you, isn't it? And the brigade members you'll need to impress."

"I … thank you. Mona."

"You're very welcome. Do only as I ask, and I have a feeling we'll be getting along splendidly."

Tolar appeared at the chamber door moments later, as Vermilya was leaving. He stood staring after the former horde vixen for some moments, then turned to his mate. "What was that all about?"

"Setting some new ground rules, and turning a potential source of trouble to an asset. How goes it elsewhere in our stronghold?"

"Bryn seems to be working out. I don't think we have anything to worry about on that front. As for the rest of Jaffox's crew …"

"You can show no weakness now, My Sword. Whatever must be done, must be done with a firm paw, and a resolve of steel, lest we face the same situation all over again. I will handle the vixens, but you must handle those fighters."

Tolar regarded her. "Yes. The vixens. I trust this past night has kept us both quite busy. So … Joska's sisters?"

"They've been taken care of, and will trouble nobeast ever again."

"The vitriol, I assume?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"I think I'd prefer not to know the details, just as I'd prefer not to have that treacherous stuff in my fortress at all."

"We'll need to make more of it."

"More … of it?"

"Yes. The second sister I committed to it - was it Iskra, or Imara? I could never tell them apart - took noticeably longer to be consumed than Jaffox or the first sister. The vitriol is losing its efficacy, just as Kyslith warned it would after such multiple uses."

"Just how dangerous is that vitriol now, at this point? After its … multiple uses?"

"You'd not want to stick your paws into it. It could probably still eat a beast down to the bone, it not the bones themselves. And even that might take a while. For our purposes, it may be just about useless."

"Our … purposes." The words came stiltedly from Tolar's tongue. "Well, how will you get rid of it? That tub is quite full."

"One bucket at a time. Our weasels are quite happy to be rid of Jaffox, so I'm sure they'll consider the task a small price to pay. We'll use covered pails, to avoid any injuries from the sloshing, or damage or discoloration to the floors and stairs. They can just empty the buckets out into the canal, to be carried away by the Moss; the vitriol may be diluted enough now that it shouldn't stricken any of the fish once it gets out into the main currents, or pollute the water to any great extent."

"Ah. And what you just said about whipping up another batch of the vitriol?"

"I never used the term 'whipping up.' That would be cavalier. The vitriol demands to be taken very seriously … and that is exactly how I take it."

"Mona … I don't want you making any more of that stuff."

She regarded her mate with detached irrelevance. "After you've seen how much we need it?"

"Need it?" Tolar sputtered, incredulous. "That is a horrible, horrible substance that does horrible things to a beast."

"Would you deny that Jaffox earned himself such an end - or Joska's sisters as well - for what they tried to do to us?"

"Jaffox is gone. Joska is dead, and her sisters have been dealt with as well - not, perhaps, in the manner I would have chosen, but you requested that I leave them to you, and so I did. The crisis has passed. Foxguard is fully ours again. We will face no more challenges requiring such drastic measures."

"Can you say that with such surety? With the rest of Jaffox's Northland squad up there now, confused and perhaps desperate over this turn of events and anxiously wondering what their fate will be? Desperate beasts, especially those accustomed to barbaric ways, can become particularly dangerous and ruthless if they feel they've been backed into a corner and are in peril."

"They stand vastly outnumbered. Bryn knows where things stand, and I impressed upon that ferret what he must do to avoid any dire consequences. Those hordebeasts will follow him, now that Jaffox is dead." Mona seemed about to correct the Sword on some point, but he pushed on before she could. "Bryn will not dare step out of line, after having sworn to cause me no further trouble. He knows better than that."

"What of the Gawtrybe, and Custis?"

"What of them? Their authority at Foxguard cannot supersede mine. They can't even make any pretenses to that effect, as Jaffox might have. They mean nothing to me now."

"They might beg to differ. Custis in particular may beg to differ. They could still cause us trouble."

"I doubt it. Custis is too busy with his Purge, and now that the issue with Jaffox has been put to rest once and for all, he has no justification for interfering in our affairs further."

"And if you're wrong?"

"If I am, what? Are you suggesting we paralyze Custis and stick him in the vitriol as well?"

Mona simply gazed expectantly at him, as if daring her mate to say aloud that this might not be a bad idea after all.

"Mona, there is not to be another batch of vitriol."

The vixen's response was calm and supremely assured. "We shall just have to agree to disagree on that point, my love."

"I'll confine Kyslith to his quarters until he leaves for Salamandastron. I'll restrict him from his workshop, so that he won't be able to concoct that nightmarish solution."

"By all means, if you insist. But I don't need him. He showed me how to distill it, and I paid very close attention. He was most helpful in that regard. I'll be able to supply Foxguard with all the vitriol we will ever need, henceforth."

"Foxguard needs no more vitriol."

"Again, we agree to disagree."

And there it was. Tolar knew, listening to his mate now, that she would not budge on this issue, that he would have to physically restrain her from brewing up more of the corrosive fluid, that she would wheedle and lie and go behind his back to get her way in this - and that, after lending a paw in disposing of Jaffox as he had, and granting Mona free rein to do likewise with Joska's sisters, he was in no moral position to deny her. By design or not, she had made him complicit in the use of this terrible solution to end lives, even if they were the lives of underpawed schemers and would-be assassins and usurpers … and Sappakit's murderers. Some small part of his soul stood tainted by this manner of execution, some fragment of his self had been forever corrupted by standing back and watching as the big dogfox vanished into the roiling cauldron of annihilation, never to emerge again. So how was he to forbid Mona from what he himself had been a part of?

His face storming over to match his inner thoughts, Tolar regarded his mate where she sat. "You seem to have made yourself right at home here. How are you enjoying use of my office, and my chair?"

"I invoked these trappings of power - which might very well belong to Jaffox now, had we not pursued the course revealed to me - to forestall similar trouble from a different pool of potential discontent. I am dealing with my part in all of this, just as I said I would." Mona paused. "And I still think Jaffox's leftovers could be a problem," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"Don't worry, I know how to handle them." Tolar turned to exit the conference room. "In fact, let me go see to that right now."

00000000000

"'scuse me, but we got a bit of an issue, Sword."

Tolar glanced aside from where he and the rest of his brigade stood overseeing the assembly of Jaffox's Northland squad out on the drilling patch. "Yes, Captain Choock, what is it?"

"This latest batch o' rats th' Gawtrybe're bringin' in is one o' their biggest yet. It'll take all our remainin' rafts t' get 'em sailed downriver."

"I don't see the problem. More rafts can always be constructed."

"Ain't so much th' rafts, Sword, as who's gonna sail 'em. Ev'ry time we get another group sent off down th' Moss, gotta send enuff o' my squad with 'em t' steer the barges an' guard the pris'ners. An' in case you ain't noterced, we shrews've dwindled down to a shadow o' what we were at th' start of all this. Matter o' fact, this next caravan's gonna claim all th' rest of us, an' leave not a shrew at Foxguard."

Tolar pursed his lips. "Shouldn't the first group we sent downriver be returning any time now?"

"Takes a lot longer t' row upstream 'gainst th' current than goin' with it, Sword. An' even longer if they were t' try an' cross back overland - not that I'm expectin' 'em t' come that way, since they'll wanna return th' rafts with 'em."

"Do what you must, Captain. If Foxguard is to be temporarily without shrews, then so be it. Any more rats we receive after today will have to wait in our cells until your first group returns. Either that, or the Gawtrybe can take over all the raft-building duties for themselves - they've already proven capable bargewrights - and escort any further prisoners down the Moss on their own."

Choock's snout pinched up in mild consternation. "Not sure how fond they'd be of _that_ idea. Those bushtails seem t' think their place is here in Mossflower, seein' t' things here … an' keepin' an eye on you."

"It's their Purge. If it's so important to them to get their rats shipped off to Salamandastron, they can see to it themselves. I'm certainly not sparing any of my brigade for such duty."

"It's _our_ Purge, Sword - yers included," Choock reminded the fox. "An' I'm not suggestin' you assign any o' yer squad to raftin' duty. But you got weasels here who could be temp'rarily detached from Foxguard fer such an outing, well as that whole horde o' Bryn's outside who're just sittin' 'round on their tails." The shrew's gaze slipped over to the Northland foxes being marshaled into rough ranks upon the drilling grounds. "Or some o' that crew, now that Jaffox ain't around t' lead 'em no more. Think you'd wanna be rid of 'em any way you can, an' that'd be one way."

"Perhaps. I'll leave it to you and the Gawtrybe to work out what you want to do about keeping any shrews at Foxguard, since it was Custis's idea to redeploy you from the Western Plains in the first place. If you do decide to escort this latest group of prisoners, we'll just have to get along without any shrews until some of you can make your way back to us. I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Um, aye, Sword."

Tolar strode past Choock to join Haddican at the head of the assembled foxes on the fortress grounds. The seasoned campaigner and trusted comrade was turning out to be a most capable and competent second-in-command in Sappakit's stead, and Tolar knew he'd chosen wisely, even if Remillard or Dijax or any of the other Original Twenty might have proven just as fit for the position. Tolar had convened all the brigade veterans the night before to brief them on what he planned to do here this morning, and while some had raised reservations or objections, the Sword knew they would back him up to a beast, and that he could count on their support in this matter. And, where the senior members of the brigade led, all others would follow.

The Northland vulpines who'd previously served under Jaffox shuffled and fidgeted nervously as they held their position on the practice grounds, ordered out here under the early summer sun to muster for whatever their new commander had in mind. In truth, they were only slightly outnumbered by Tolar's brigade, but every fox among them knew that numbers alone meant nothing here; in terms of skill and lethality, the swordfoxes may as well have held a ten-to-one advantage as far as any hope the Northlanders would have of standing against them if things were to turn ugly here.

Tolar addressed them. "From the day you first arrived at Foxguard, you have all been lax to the point of negligence in observing our routine practice drills. And now that Jaffox is gone, I must decide what is to be done with you. I will accept you into my brigade - and into Foxguard - only if you can prove your worth with your blades, and show that you deserve to stand alongside my swordfoxes. Your one and only previous drill with my brigade showed you all to be far short of the required skill, so today I give you a second chance to show us what you can do. I would strongly suggest you take full advantage of this opportunity, since what you demonstrate here today will determine your future at Foxguard."

The Sword took a step toward the restive, uneven ranks and pointed to one whom he recognized as a close confidant of Jaffox's, Redrovan. "You first. Front and center."

Paws sweating, Redrovan stepped away from his fellows to face Tolar. The Sword drew his fine blade and took up the traditional practice stance, prompting the Northlander to do the same with his own far cruder weapon.

In the black-clad crowd surrounding the imminent contest, some of the veteran foxes of the brigade circulated amongst the junior swordsbeasts and cadets. When Dijax passed near Roxroy and Stillafax, the two younger foxes heard him murmur, "Expect bloodshed, and be ready."

Tolar and Redrovan crossed swords with a ceremonial clink, and then the master of Foxguard uttered three words that changed everything.

"To the death."

Redrovan's sword arm faltered as he looked on in puzzled panic. "What … ?"

"Different rules today. If you can keep me from spilling your lifeblood, you get to join my brigade. Fail, and this day will be your last."

And then Tolar was upon him, with no mercy shown.

Knowing he fought for his very life, the wide-eyed Redrovan leaned into the contest with desperate effort while his Northland comrades could only look on, held in check by the swordfoxes who stood ready to cut down any interloper who sought to interfere. But his attempts proved futile, his brutish aggression no match for Tolar's deft blade work, and within a dozen swings the swordfox found an opening in Redrovan's defenses and delivered a quick thrust that took Redrovan cleanly through the heart. It was all over so fast that Redrovan barely had time to realize what had happened to him before he keeled over onto the ground, never to rise again.

At their superior's subtle bidding, two of the junior foxes of the brigade hurried forward to drag the body out of the way as Tolar, sword still out of its scabbard and in his paw, turned to the remaining Northlanders. Picking out another with his eyes, he pointed at his next chosen challenger with his blade. "You."

The indicated fox shrank back, paws held up before him. "N-no, no! I'll not face ye! A boon, I beg o' ye!"

Tolar's expression was as cold as winter frost. "Front and center, now. Or I'll slay you where you stand."

Trembling, the Northland vulpine stumbled forward to face his likely demise.

"Sword out," Tolar commanded, noting that the other had yet to draw his weapon.

"P-please … I don' wanna - "

"Sword out!" Tolar roared.

Seeing no choice but to comply, the fox drew. No sooner did he have his blade free of its sheath than Tolar was upon him like a whirlwind. It took a mere five swings for the Sword to deliver his second fatal thrust to the heart in as many opponents, putting down another of Jaffox's crew.

Once again, two of the junior swordfoxes bore aside the second body to lay it out of the way alongside Redrovan's while Tolar looked back to the aghast Northlanders. "Well, this has all been very disappointing so far. I expected better."

One of the crude foxes, unable to contain himself, burst out, "Y' gonna kill us all?"

Tolar stared him in the eye. "Only if you force me to. And since you're so vocal on the matter, you're next."

Displaying none of the hesitant fear of the second fox, this one stepped forward boldly, drawing his blade and scowling at Tolar with a half-snarl. "Bring it on!"

Tolar started to step forward, blade raised, but an unexpected paw of restraint on his shoulder stopped him, spinning him half around. The fox commander found himself looking into the alarmed and irate eyes of Sergeant Collijack.

"Sword! What are you doing?! These are soldiers of Lord Urthblood's!"

"We both know they're no such thing."

"You must stop this, at once!"

Tolar bared his fangs at the squirrel. "Get out of my face," he growled with a feral ferocity that made Collijack imagine for a moment he was gazing into the half-mad features of Jaffox himself.

The Gawtrybe squirrel realized some of the other veteran swordfoxes had closed in around him, with Dalkeith taking hold of his arm. "Come along, Sergeant, and stand aside. You don't want to be in the middle of this - trust me."

Collijack allowed himself to be escorted outside the immediate zone of combat, leaving Tolar facing his antagonistic challenger once more. So clean had been the Sword's first two kills that nary a drop of blood stained the grass and earth of the duelling spot beneath their footpaws.

"Show me what you've got," Tolar said to the third Northlander with considerably more calm than he'd used to address Collijack. "Hold your own better than those other two, and you may yet live to see the sunset."

With a guttural bark of indignation, the fox lunged forward at Tolar, sword swinging.

He fared little better than his two slain comrades, and very shortly a third slain fox lay with the first two.

Tolar, fueled by adrenaline and battle fever coursing through his veins, paced back and forth before the cowed and fearful Northlanders, his tail swishing like that of an agitated squirrel. "I've barely broken a sweat here," he mockingly castigated. "Is this really the best any of you can do? At this rate, I'll have to face another dozen of you before I even begin to tire!"

More Gawtrybe had begun to gather around the foxes, looking to Collijack for any signal as to whether they should intervene. Choock's shrews had been drawn to the scene as well, and many of Foxguard's weasels stood by in case their vulpine masters should need them.

"Enough!" Another Northlander stepped forward, drawing his blade. But instead of brandishing it in a fighting stance, he cast it to the ground alongside him. "I'll not fight you, Sword. Slay me if ye're bound t' do so, but spare the others, I implore ye. Cast 'em out, banish them if you must, but let my death be the last this day!"

Tolar came right up to the selfless fox, resting the tip of his sword against the negotiator's belly in case the Northlander came out with a second, hidden blade, or had some other form of treachery in mind. "Well, that's a rather courageous and stalwart gesture, offering to make a sacrifice like that to save your fellows. The kind of act a born leader might show. What's your name?"

"Glennon." The fox matched Toar's glare without flinching. "Name's Glennon."

"So tell me, Glennon, if I were to spare your life, and those of every other fox here, how do I know I could trust you not to turn on me sometime down the road?"

"First off, reckon you've shown us well 'nuff what happens to beasts who go against you." Glennon's gaze momentarily strayed to the three corpses laid out on the fortress grounds. "Secondly, Jaffox is dead, which leaves us without a commander, which might just leave us more docile an' quicker to accept your command than you might've assumed. An' last, like I just said, if you don't trust us, kick us all out of Foxguard an' don't let us back in again, an' we'll trouble you no more."

"Hm. Can you take orders, and know your place?"

"Try me."

"And can the rest of your gang here do the same?"

"You spare their lives, an' I'll see they do."

Tolar's swordtip never left Glennon's stomach. "What's your rank?"

"Don't have one. Jaffox never organized us that way."

"Ah. Well, you're a sergeant now. Which puts you under Lieutenant Bryn. Take yourselves outside and get set up with him. None of you are good enough to join my brigade, but perhaps he'll find some use for you. Bryn's your immediate commanding officer as of now, and I expect you to follow his orders without question, just as I expect him to follow mine."

Glennon exhaled in relief. "Thank you, Sword."

"Don't thank me. Serve me." Tolar turned to Haddican. "Get these brutish oafs out of my sight, before I change my mind."

Sheathing his blade, Tolar turned and stalked away, but found he had another beast dogging his steps. "Sword, that was just unacceptable, that display I just saw," Collijack protested. "I shall have to inform Captain Custis of this episode."

"Inform whoever you like, Sergeant. It was internal Foxguard business, settled in the way I deemed best."

"I know you're still upset over what Jaffox tried to do, but you don't know whether any of those others were involved in any way. Do you really call that justice, Sword?"

"No," Tolar replied, keeping his gaze directed forward. "I call it a problem solved."


	81. Chapter LXXX

**LXXX.**

 **REDWALL**

That morning at Redwall, classes resumed for the first time since Nameday. And Vanessa had decided it would be a splendid idea for "Captain Redclaw" to sit in on such a session, to see for himself how well woodland rats and Abbey youths could get along under the tutelage of Winokur and Cyrus.

Thus, when it came time to begin the day's lessons, with every pupil settled into its seat gazing attentively at the two teachers (except for the usual fussing and fidgeting, as to be expected on the first day back at school after the seasonal break), and Abbess and searats failed to appear, Wink and Cyrus were at something of a loss.

Cyrus looked to the otter Recorder. "Well, do we go ahead, or wait a while longer?"

"As I understood it, Vanessa wanted to use this day to show our searat envoy how well our rats are fitting in at Redwall. Perhaps she decided to take him down through the kitchens, or the seamstress rooms or someplace else where they happily toil alongside our longtime Abbey residents, before bringing him here. I'm sure they'll be along in good time. No sense in delaying, since we've got such an attentive audience eager to receive today's words of wisdom!"

When the Abbess did show up some time later, well into the tale of Trisscar the Swordmaiden, the mouse was quite alone. "Pardon the interruption, Brother Winokur, but may I speak with you alone for a few moments?"

"I … yes, I suppose, Abbess. Cyrus knows the story of Triss well enough to carry on without me." Intrigued by this odd request - he couldn't remember the last time one of his lessons had been interrupted in such a manner - Winokur walked up the center aisle between the two ranks of seated students to join the green-robed mouse in the hallway outside. As he passed all the younger creatures, Budsock couldn't help unleashing a silly taunt his teacher's way.

"Ooo, you're in _troubllleee_ … "

Some of his fellow classmates around him, rat and woodlander alike, snickered at this innocent impertinence.

To the sound of Cyrus mildly shushing them in good humor and resuming the tale of the Squirrelmaid Champion, Winokur and Vanessa withdrew into the second-story passageway, which they had all to themselves. "What is it, Abbess?"

"I just had a very interesting conversation with our searat friend. He has rebuffed our offer of any sort of treaty or pact."

"Oh." Winokur appeared crestfallen if not entirely surprised by this news. "Well, he has rather been dancing around our proposal ever since we presented it to him. I can't say I'm not disappointed, since I thought he'd at least seriously entertain the possibility."

"Actually, I think he still is … but he told me he cannot make any final decision on the matter until he first journeys to Foxguard, and meets with the leaders there. Then he will return to Redwall and think on the matter some more, armed with all the facts and observations he feels he needs to render a decision."

"Well, what's so bad about that, then? Let's send him along to Foxguard, so he can see what he wants to see there, and then welcome him back to the Abbey. You made it sound like he'd rejected our overtures outright, instead of just delaying his decision until he could find out more. So there's still a chance, right?"

"Wink … I don't think he should go to Foxguard."

The otter jutted out a perturbed lower lip, then his face lit with understanding. "Jaffox."

"That's just it: I'm not sure it is about Jaffox. Something is happening at Foxguard - I can't perceive precisely what it is, but something has changed."

Winokur digested this. "Changed for the better, or for the worse?"

"I honestly can't say … and that's what fills me with misgivings, and reservations. But I've a feeling - a very strong one - that if Tratton journeys on to Foxguard, he will not be returning to Redwall."

Winokur's eyes widened. "That's … quite a statement."

"Indeed it is. And I can't go to Maura or the hares about this - not fully, anyway - because as far as they know, our friend Redclaw is just a captain of Tratton's Fleet. They'd not care one way or the other whether some danger might lie in wait for him at Foxguard."

"Hm. More likely the Colonel would say to send him off with all speed, and good riddance to one less searat we have to worry about. But … what _would_ happen if Tratton were to meet with misfortune at Foxguard?"

"A very interesting question. If something had happened to him here, it might seem almost natural, and to be expected, with so many beasts on paw who might wish him harm were they to find out who he really is. On the other paw, it would seem a given that everybeast at Foxguard has been appraised of his true identity, and since Urthblood has given his leave for Tratton to visit Mossflower, we can assume his mandate of protection would apply to that fortress as well."

"Unless it doesn't," Winokur speculated. "Do you suppose it was Urthblood's intention all along to draw Tratton to Foxguard - the farthest likely point from the coast Tratton would care to visit - and then do away with him there, where word of his demise would take the longest to reach the Searat Empire?"

Vanessa slowly shook her head. "I don't think so. What I sense has nothing of that badger in it. It's coming from Foxguard, not from him. Foxguard, and perhaps … elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?"

"Yes. Not Salamandastron, or Southsward where Urthblood is now. But Foxguard itself lies at the crux of it all."

Winokur pursed his lips. "You sought to drive a wedge between Tolar and Urthblood. Perhaps you've succeeded, and this is the form it's taking? Flouting their badger master's will by refusing to guarantee Tratton's safety?"

"It's … possible. But even if Tolar has decided this for himself and his foxes, there are still Gawtrybe at Foxguard as well, and they will seek to carry out Urthblood's wishes and bidding, even if if Tolar does not. And with Jaffox as the wild card … " Vanessa shrugged.

"Perhaps this will set Tolar's foxes against the Gawtrybe?"

"Not like we haven't had enough of _that_ this past season already." The mouse stood silent for many heartbeats, bathed in the summer rays slanting in through the hallway windows. Winokur could guess well enough what she was thinking, at least in tactical terms if not in her grander vision.

"Time to send another Sparra to Foxguard?"

She gave an affirming nod. "Time to send another Sparra to Foxguard."

 **CASTLE FLORET**

King Fael eyed all the clay vessels lined up on the roof of Castle Floret with dubious skepticism. "They look rather harmless to me, Lord."

"They may strike you as innocuous, Your Majesty, but trust me that you would not wish to be anywhere near them - or even anywhere downwind of them - when they break open."

Captains Thrubble Thern and Tammion Tesque and many of the palace guard and other important personages of Floret had turned out for this glimpse of the Badger Lord's purported superweapon which was supposed to rid them of their dragon problem, and most stood as unimpressed with the display as their King was. The morning sunlight of Southsward glinted dully off the unglazed surfaces of the clay receptacles, making these alleged repositories of death appear less interesting and more mundane than even the most pedestrian offerings of the local village potter. Indeed the court beasts devoted far more of their nervous attention to the flock of battle gulls resting on the roof wall and circling overhead, waiting on their red-armored commander.

Fael too spared a glance skyward. "Did you summon all the seagulls from the entire coast, Lord?"

"Not at all. A large contingent, including my gull captain, remains behind at Salamandastron, to see to the defense of that mountain. And of the ones I've summoned to Southsward for this assignment, only half appear before you now. The remainder have, as we agreed, been dispatched to scout along your coastal regions and lower woodlands for any signs of the lizards we seek. I've also advised them to consult with the local bird populations, of various species, to determine whether your own avian residents of Southsward might have observed anything on their own which might aid us. Since you yourselves never welcomed any birds at Floret other than your ornamental peacocks, it could well be that they have noticed reptilian movements and never reported it to any land beast."

"How very considerate of you to delight in pointing out any shortcoming of mine you can discover or fabricate. I can see why you have endeared yourself to the Redwallers so." Fael stepped forward to ping at one clay vessel with a clawflick. "So, you truly imagine these will suffice to rid us of our fastdragons - and to win you an alliance with Southsward over the searats?"

"I do. The contents of these vessels, when exposed to the air, are most potent - and, for reasons I discovered during my examination of your captive dragon, I suspect our lizard adversaries will prove especially susceptible to its effects, particularly if we can hit them with it at just the right moment."

"The specimen you spoiled and desecrated, you mean. I sincerely do hope you were able to gain useful information in the course of your one-pawed butchery … and that the upcoming operation will secure me at least one replacement for my live exhibits. Otherwise, I might have to exact some additional penalty fees from any treaty we eventually sign."

Alexander, also drawn to the castle roof for this assemblage, had stood back so far, content to watch the squirrel and badger engage in their usual banter. Now he gave voice to yet another warning regarding Urthblood - although he hardly expected Fael to heed this one any more than his previous cautions.

"Your Majesty, the weapons you see before you are pure evil. They kill by burning the flesh and destroying throat and lungs in a most horrible way. This was what Urthblood used against the rebel shrews last summer, with results so terrible that his entire company of otters resigned from his service and returned to the Northlands." The Redwaller shot a glance toward Klystra, who sat nestled upon the castle crenelations amidst the waiting gulls. "Just ask him - he was there."

"Ah ha!" Fael pounced at this revelation, eager to seize upon anything to give him an edge over Urthblood. "So, the badger has no otters! That must be rather inconvenient, given that your fortress sits beside the Western Sea!"

"I have made do," the red warrior replied, unperturbed. "And I am currently engaged in negotiations with the otters of the sea in attempts to secure a defensive arrangement with them, which will hopefully stand both the lands and the sea lanes in good stead."

Fael tsked. "And here I assumed you only negotiated with me at present. I'm almost offended. Just how many negotiations do you generally have underway at one time, Lord?"

"As many as I have to, Your Majesty. Although it might assuage your affront to know that I suspended my otter negotiations in favor of these here, deeming Southsward of far greater immediate importance."

"Well, that lands you halfway back into half of my good graces."

"But there's more," Alex pressed on with Fael. "After the shrew war, when he vowed he would never use that awful weapon again, we recently found out he turned around and did exactly that, using it to exterminate an entire tribe of weasels out on the Western Plains - females, young and old included."

"I never made any such promise, to anybeast," Urthblood smoothly corrected. "You Abbeyfolk may have misconstrued such, but if so, you were mistaken. I use whatever weapons I deem fit for the needs of the situation. And what good Alexander has neglected to tell you, Your Majesty, is that these weren't merely weasels - they were cannibal weasels who had, in one form or another, plagued Mossflower for generations, preying upon innocent travellers and setting traps to add their flesh to their bellies and their bones to their charnel pits. I did the lands a great service by eradicating them. Indeed, would that I had learned of their menace and acted sooner than I did, so that additional lives might have been spared … including that of at least one refugee making for Redwall whose seasons were cut short by those savages."

"Sounds sensible to me. Sorry, Redwaller, you lose … again." Fael returned his attention to the ranks of unassuming clay vessels adorning his castle roof. "One would never guess they contain such efficient death. So, how do they work, Lord?"

"They are, perhaps, not quite as efficient as you just suggested. The weapon is most effective in close quarters, where the poison vapors can concentrate and not dissipate into a more tenuous cloud. That might prove an issue if the enemy we now face were ordinary furred beasts, but as I have stated, I suspect our reptile foe may prove particularly vulnerable to this line of attack - especially if we can locate their main underground lairs and release the gas there. But even if we must take them in the open, I feel this was still the best option. The biggest challenge will be if we must engage them on soft ground, where the vessels will not smash open easily."

"Ah." Fael's eyes twinkled in anticipation of catching the badger at a disadvantage. "What would you do then?"

"Then, Your Majesty, you would see that my birds are good for far more than merely dropping clay pots on top of lizards' heads."

"Hm. And now that you've got them all delivered to Floret and cluttering up my scenic overlook, will you at least be sending away these onerous rufflegans? They've sent all my peacocks into hiding."

"A token force will remain, along with Captain Klystra. To guard the weaponry."

"Guard it? I think you forget where you are, badger. And I equally suspect Captains Tesque and Thern will take justified affront in your suggestion that they're not up to the task themselves. We need none of your dandery dementors to safeguard our own roof."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, of all the creatures of the lands, only my birds have direct battlefield experience with this particular weapon, and thus stand as best qualified to ensure that its hazards pose no danger to anybeast at Floret. And as for Captain Klystra, he will serve as my point officer for the entire operation, overseeing and coordinating all my gulls and relaying my orders to them in the field. As such, he must remain where I may consult with him as needed."

"Are you sure it's our safety that's uppermost in your mind, Lord? One would almost think you don't trust us - and that would make you a very poor guest indeed."

"You _do_ have searats here at Floret presently, Your Majesty. A weapon like this cannot be allowed to fall into Tratton's claws."

"Is that truly your only concern?"

"No, it is not. It could well be that, even were he to acquire some of these vessels for his own study, Tratton would prove unable to analyze their contents sufficiently to replicate the formula for himself. But that would not prevent Viceroy Korba from sneaking up here and casting them over the side of the roof to sabotage my own strategy in his desire to win an alliance with Southsward over me."

"And why do you imagine we would allow him to do such a thing, when getting rid of our fastdragons is our chief concern, and your way of removing them from our realm may well prove more effective than his?"

"You have shown both a propensity and a fondness for playing games, Your Majesty, even with stakes as high as these. You might consider this an interesting twist in this contest."

"You insult me, badger."

"Such was not my intent. In any case, these weapons are not easily manufactured, and if all or most of these were to be ruined, it would take me the better part of a season to replace them … and that would not do your dragon problem any good."

"Yes, such a mishap would indeed be unfortunate, although perhaps not the unmitigated disaster you portray. You could always show _us_ how to produce this weapon, utilizing the resources we have right here in Southsward. That would spare you from having to make the arduous journey back to your own workshops at Salamandastron, and a time-consuming journey it would be too. I'm sure you'll find we can provide you with all you'd need to replicate your facilities, and perhaps expand and improve on them as well, since I could order whatever you require to be placed at your disposal."

Urthblood regarded Fael with a steely gaze. "Southsward has no need of such weapons."

"Oh really? With the possibility of hordes of murderous reptiles massing on our southern borders and overreaching into our territory with massacre on their tiny minds, you tell me with a straight striped face we have no need of the very weapon you propose we use to defeat them? How exactly would that work again?"

"I will personally oversee the elimination of these lizards, Your Majesty. And once they are gone, as I have said, Southsward will have no further need for this weapon."

"Ah, but you're rather jumping from Point A to Point D, aren't you? You've already let slip that this is your entire supply of this weapon, and you expect to use it all up in your demonstration. Assuming it even proves effective against the dragons, that would still leave many of the lizards left to kill, and no gas to kill them with. You'll need to make more - lots more - to take care of the rest. Now, would it really make sense for you to have to go all the way back to Salamandastron, craft hundreds more of these weapons there, and then have to get them all the way back down here to use them on the battlefield?"

Urthblood remained coolly stoic. "You actually did anticipate me in this regard, Your Majesty. If this gas does turn out to be the ideal defense against this lizard threat, I would have begged your indulgence to set up in Southsward precisely the type of workshop you yourself now propose, so that more of the weapons can be produced on-site and brought to bear immediately, with minimal transport involved."

"And you're only just mentioning this now because … ?"

"I felt it would have been premature otherwise. The field tests against the lizards have not even commenced yet, and I needed to be sure first."

"Almost understandable. But now that we're on the same page again, you'll agree that you _will_ show us how to make the weapon?"

"I did not say that."

"Then what did you just say? My ears must have been plugged with seagull dander."

"I said only that I would, with your permission, set up a production facility here in Southsward. But it would of necessity be staffed by my own creatures, and I would oversee all the more sensitive aspects of the process myself. That would ideally prove the best and most efficient solution, I'm sure you would agree."

"I'm not sure of that at all. A weapons workshop, turning out the most nightmarish of advanced armaments, built right in my backyard but from which I and my loyal subjects are excluded? We shall have to talk more on _that_ , Lord. We shall have to talk on it quite a bit more. But for now, here come some of your gulls, back from their latest survey flight. Let's hear what they have to report … if they can make their screeching understood to proper mammal ears."

A trio of the seabirds circled around to come in at the castle roof from the Northwest, fluttering and flapping to alight on the stone wall nearest their badger master. Klystra and Urthblood looked to the scouts. "What do you have to report?"

"Searats returning, coming upstream with otters! Several boats, big war engines!"

Urthblood's eyebrows went up. "They've removed some of their catapults from their two ships to bring them inland?"

"With my leave, yes," Fael piped in. "After all, they must be granted the same free paw to show me how they'd deal with my dragons as I'm granting you, Lord, wouldn't you agree? And if their method involves catapults … " The Squirrel King shrugged.

"Aren't you afraid of the searats turning them on Floret?" Alex asked.

"No, Redwaller, I am not. For one thing, they are only being allowed to bring two or three. For another, if they were to try any such thing, I have a stout badger warrior who stands in competition with them to win my favor. I'm sure he would be happy to aid in the defense of Floret. Wouldn't you, Lord?"

"If they were to try such a thing, Your Majesty, they will be annihilated. I would see to that."

"Now that's more like it. Keep up with talk like _that_ , and I might just be inclined to keep you around for a while after all."

Urthblood looked back to the recently-arrived gulls. "Any other news to report?"

"Yesyes, bignews! Lizards found!"

Fael pursed his lips. "Hm - you'd think they would have started off with that little tidbit, wouldn't you? Well, Lord, you'd best start getting your birds and their poison pots ready - and I'd best go inform Viceroy Korba that his own weapons are on the way. Once they arrive, you and your scaly-tailed competitor can muster your forces, seek out these lizards where they live, and bring this contest to a fitting and, I should hope, satisfying conclusion … and may the best dragonslayer win!"

 **GAWDREY**

"It's the hares."

Custis and Mina sat in the command loft of Gawdrey, listening to the report of their scouting team recently returned from the Western Plains. Daum, having had more experience with the Redwallers than most Gawtrybe, had been selected for this detail in case the squirrels ran into any Abbeybeasts during their mission so he could help smooth over any tensions, but now Daum sat back and allowed his team leader Symond to do most of the talking. And it was clear Custis didn't care for what he was hearing.

"How sure are you on this?" the Gawtrybe captain prompted.

"All the evidence supports it," Symond replied. "Most of the rat tracks immediately across the road from Grayfoot's Tavern leading out into the Plains have been wiped clean, but they missed a few, and once we got a few hundred paces out from the path they became a lot easier to pick up and follow. We were able to trace them for half a day into the heart of the Plains .. at which point they abruptly disappeared again, this time wiped out far more expertly than at Grayfoot's. And that was when we encountered the Long Patrol."

"Well, that's a bit beyond coincidental. Practically an admissions of guilt. Did you demand an explanation from them?"

"Before I had a chance to do so, they demanded to know what _we_ were doing out there."

"Nonsense. The forces of Lord Urthblood are free to go wherever in the lands we must. They are the ones who owe us an explanation, not the other way around."

"Apparently they don't see it that way, sir."

Custis ground his teeth. "The arrogance! To interfere with our operations, and then act as if it's their right to do so! Just what you'd expect from the Long Patrol."

"Perhaps not," said Mina. "Or should I say, perhaps not them alone. Yes, they've always shown a contrary attitude regarding anything to do with Lord Urthblood, but even so, I can't see them being spurred to outright action in this case by their indignation alone. I suspect they act at the behest of another."

Custis regarded his High Lady. "You mean the Abbess?"

"I do. This smacks of her strategy - to go on the offensive before being put on the defensive, to deflect questions by demanding answers from us, then claim the moral high ground and cast us as being in the wrong. I saw enough of that changed mouse before I left Redwall to know this. The Long Patrol may share her aims and agree with her purpose, but their attitude in this speaks of Vanessa's oversight and guidance. They'd not be doing this without her."

"But, she was the one who ordered that no attempt be made to rescue the ratmaid Lord Urthblood sought … that they were to just let us have her."

"Because she feared the trouble that prophetess might cause if she were to remain at Redwall. Or so she claimed."

"Be that as it may, she forbade the Long Patrol to affect a rescue, and they disobeyed her and went after the ratmaid anyway. If any creatures at Redwall might show reluctance at working with her now, or to be part of any conspiracy she's hatched, you'd think it would be those hares."

"Then she must have told them something to change their minds. It wouldn't take much, given the Long Patrol's history of acrimony with Lord Urthblood - including the fresh memories of the two hares they lost out on the Plains going after the ratmaid. Any chance to give our Lord a black eye is one they'd likely jump at. And we know they were active in the woods below Redwall last season, no doubt spreading word of our operations ahead of us to warn rats to make for Grayfoot's and then the Plains - and perhaps coordinating with that ferret himself."

"And now they've shifted their operations to the Plains," said Custis, "where we have no more shrews, and where we can't even monitor movements from the air at present due to the redeployment of our gulls down to Southsward. It's almost as if … " He gave Mina a meaningful look. "You don't suppose the Abbess foresaw this, do you, and set up the Western Plains as a sanctuary for the rat fugitives, knowing we'd have no forces there to stop her?"

"It's … possible. She claims to share some connection with Redwall's founding Warrior, and given some of what I've seen, I would not dismiss such claims out of paw. It's possible she did foresee some of what is happening now. But I very much doubt she would admit such, even if true."

"And if true," Custis mused darkly, "that would mean Lord Urthblood is being challenged by a fellow beast with prophetic powers."

"A mouse who's holed up in her Abbey and must act through proxies. That works to our advantage, since her power diminishes the farther one gets from their walls. If the Long Patrol truly are engaged in fugitive operations out in the Plains, they're largely on their own, and cut off from Redwall. That should make them easier to deal with - however we decide to do it."

Custis shook his head. "Between this and what's happening at Foxguard, I feel like we're getting hit from all sides at once. At least the resettlement campaign in general proceeds swimmingly; we've got nearly this entire sector of Mossflower cleared out, and will soon be able to turn our attention fully south."

"What news from Foxguard?" Symond asked, having just returned from his expedition and not aware of Collijack's latest dispatch from the fox fortress.

"Things there between Tolar and Jaffox came to a head, and not in the way anybeast expected. Tolar claims Jaffox tried to poison him, and he had Jaffox executed."

Symond's and Daum's eyes went wide at this revelation. "Jaffox? Executed?"

"Yes - along with the vixen from the valley horde he'd made his right-paw beast. Tolar claims they conspired against him together, and he acted accordingly. Sergeant Collijack still questions some of the circumstances surrounding those events."

"What are you going to do about it?" Symond asked, eliciting a puzzled glance from Daum.

"In light of your own report, I'm not sure I can do anything. The resettlement campaign must remain our chief concern, and if Redwall and the Long Patrol are interfering in it, we must address that before all else. I warned Tolar not to let things with Jaffox get out of paw, but if Jaffox really did try to assassinate Tolar, I suppose the Sword was justified in carrying out such a punishment. As long as that stronghold remains supportive and thoroughly cooperative with our own efforts, I must simply let this go as internal Foxguard business, over and done with." But something in Custis's tone hinted that he remained not entirely convinced of this himself.

"So, what is to be our next step?" wondered Mina. "The entire matter of relations with Redwall has grown so … touchy."

"The tracks lead out from Grayfoot's so we'll start there. This all but proves that ferret has been conspiring against us."

"Actually, it doesn't," Mina begged to differ. "We already knew fugitive rats were going through his tavern, and he denied aiding them, while the Abbeybeasts working for him all but bragged of their complicity. We still have no proof positive that Grayfoot knowingly participated in any of this - which is, I'm sure, exactly how the Abbess wanted it."

"I'd still love to bring him in for questioning - get him here at Gawdrey, away from his home and his family, and his Redwall allies too, and see how he holds up. We have ample grounds for an interrogation … a proper one, not like the one we gave him at his tavern. We went far too easy on him last time."

"Well, we were rather interrupted, weren't we? At least everything with Tratton seems to be going right, as far as we can tell … although his presence at Redwall does complicate the situation. We dare not engage in any manner of confrontation with the Abbey while Tratton's still in this part of Mossflower. He's already surmised too much of woodlander divisions; we can't risk a full-blown incident to confirm his suspicions, right in front of him where he can see it."

"But we're not welcome at Redwall, remember?" Custis said bitterly. "If we showed up at their gates to lodge any sort of formal protest or level any accusations, we'd only be rebuffed, and most likely scoffed at. Now the Western Plains, on the other paw … " Custis turned to Daum and Symond. "From your encounter with the Long Patrol, could you gain any sense of their strength and numbers currently active in the Plains, or how much resistance they'd likely put up if we were to move against them there?"

"Hard to say, sir," Symond replied. "There were only two of them that we saw, but they could have been ranging out from a larger group or base."

"Two?" Mina glanced at Custis. "The standard patrol group for those hares is three."

The Gawtrybe captain nodded. "Which suggests that they're either working with more limited numbers than they're used to, or else they're engaged in some activity far outside the usual for them."

"Such as aiding fugitives," Mina supplied.

"Exactly. And they've got us at a disadvantage there, with their speed, and perhaps air cover from the Abbey Sparra. We'd have no tree cover for travel, surveillance or ambushes. If we're to confront them there, it will have to be in numbers - numbers I would hesitate to divert from our main operations here in Mossflower."

"Maybe we won't have to," Mina suggested. "Any rats who've already escaped that way will have nowhere to go. They'll be there for us whenever we care to collect them. Maybe a delay will make the Long Patrol grow lax, lull them into thinking we'll not be bothering with them at all. The important thing is that we now know to guard those approaches, to prevent any more rats from escaping that way. All who remain in Mossflower are ours."

"Hmm. Something to consider." Custis looked again to the two scouts. "Where exactly in the Plains did you run into those two hares?"

"Where exactly?" This question seemed to throw Symond. "There … really aren't many landmarks out on those plains to identify specific territory - it all sort of just rolls into one great big expanse. We were quite a ways out, maybe a third of the way between the road and the mountain range, and somewhat to the north … "

Mina sat up a little straighter. "North? Parallel to Redwall, would you say?"

"Yes, perhaps," supplied Daum, who knew the location of the Abbey in relation to the Plains better than Symond, having escorted freed woodland slaves across that region to Redwall.

Custis gave the Gawtrybe Lady a searching look. "Has something occurred to you, Lady?"

"Yes. Yes, Captain, something has. I've a sneaking suspicion where the Long Patrol may have stashed the fugitives who've escaped us … and if my guess is correct, it will not be an easy site to assail. Not by any means."

"Well then, we must discuss … " Custis let his voice trail off as another squirrel appeared at the doorway to the mostly-enclosed command platform high up in the branches. "Yes, Arway, what is it?"

"Another messenger, dispatched from Foxguard by Sergeant Collijack. It seems there have been … further developments there, sir."


	82. Chapter LXXXI

**LXXXI.**

 **FOXGUARD**

Since Sourbill had done such a commendable job on his previous flight to Foxguard - the very visit which had in fact definitely established Jaffox's presence at the stronghold - Vanessa chose him for this return engagement to scope out what might be happening there now. Thus it was that the intrepid Sparra, now well-versed in trans-Moss excursions due to his missions to both Foxguard and the quarry, circled low over the ring-shaped battlements on his initial approach, surveying as best he could from the air before seeking out the most opportune landing spot, and the most opportune beast to whom to present himself … and also noting which ones to avoid.

Oddly, though, he did not discover as many of the latter as anticipated. There were the Gawtrybe, of course, although they stuck mostly to the walltop, and their diminishing numbers here due to redeployment now left them as little more than a token presence. And the valley horde still held to its makeshift encampment to the north of the perimeter wall, their loose base looking to become more and more a permanent fixture of Foxguard with each passing day; indeed, it almost struck Sourbill that the rough camp may have grown somewhat since his prior reconnaissance, although he couldn't be sure. That left only the creatures within Foxguard itself, down on the fortress grounds … and there the sparrow spied only the black-clad swordsbeasts. And while this unexpected finding pleased the bird scout and set him at ease, it also left him puzzled at what was missing.

Passing over the pawful of shrews (who also seemed fewer than before) working on their rafts out on the canal and riverbank, Sourbill aimed himself over the wall, chirping out, "RedwallRedwallRedwall!" so that the Gawtrybe sentries would know not to try to shoot him. Once past the ramparts, he sought out the swordfox he took to be the highest-ranking member of the brigade and fluttered down before the surprised vulpine. "Sword Tolar?"

"Dijax, actually."

"Ah. Hard telling blackjacketfoxes apart sometimes."

"So it seems. You bring news from Redwall, I take it?"

Sourbill ignored this direct inquiry for the moment, instead darting his gaze around the grounds and the swordfoxes surrounding him. They were out for their routine drilling and practice, as far as he could tell, yet something still seemed different about them. Somehow they did not strike him as being … sharp. There was a laxness to them, almost an uncertainty or tentativeness, as if they were only out here because that was what they were supposed to be doing, but their hearts really weren't in it. It was the last thing Sourbill had expected to find at Foxguard.

"WhereJaffox, other nastyfoxes?"

Now it was Dijax's turn to dodge the question. "I'll go get Tolar."

As the veteran swordfox jogged off to fetch his commander, Sourbill took the opportunity to study the fortress grounds more closely. Now that he looked, he did spot a few shrews and weasels moving about here and there or posted at guard spots; a line of three weasels caught his eye, the trio forming a rough line as they struggled to bear heavy buckets across the lawns to the wall entrance leading out to the canal. This struck Sourbill as odd; shouldn't water bearers be bringing filled buckets _in_ from the river rather than out to it?

Roxroy separated himself from his companions to step over to the bird. "How goes everything at Redwall? There's been no … trouble there, has there?"

"Youknow searats at Abbey?"

The junior swordfox nodded; like all the brigade, he'd been briefed not to reveal any more than necessary to any outsider who came asking about this matter. "Yes - a diplomatic delegation, we're given to understand. We were informed to expect them when they started inland from the coast, and have followed their progress off and on from the tower."

"Didnot tellus."

"We didn't know for certain whether they meant to visit Redwall at all, so Tolar elected not to bother you with this. I trust their unannounced arrival hasn't proven any great inconvenience to you?"

"Hasbeen … interesting … having searats at Redwall. Notrouble, notrouble, just … interesting."

"Well, that's good, I suppose. We knew it was your summer Nameday coming up, and we were hoping their presence wouldn't disrupt the celebrations too much."

"Splitparty anyway, searats notmake much difference thatway. Nameday strangeday, beastsin, beastsout."

"Ah." Roxroy imagined he got the gist of what Sourbill was trying to convey, and it did little to cheer him. He and his fellow foxes had helped Redwall celebrate more than one Nameday, and the idea of an Abbey divided against itself was not a welcome one.

Tolar appeared from within the fortress, striding resolutely out into the daylight toward his Sparra visitor. His face was a mask, neither warmly welcoming nor overly grim, the neutral visage of a professional warrior set to give nothing away. Sourbill knew from the concerned air with which the Abbess had dispatched him on this flight that he might find something amiss at Foxguard, but a frosty greeting from the Sword who'd repeatedly sworn friendship with Redwall ranked among the least likely things the sparrow had expected to encounter.

"Welcome, friend," Tolar said to Sourbill with no real trace of welcome. "What news from Redwall?"

"Searats visit Abbey. Thisyou alreadyknow."

"Yes. Yes, we do. I trust they've caused you no inconvenience?"

"None. Just … unexpected. Allelse well." Again, Sourbill glanced around the grounds. "Where bignasteefox?"

"Jaffox is no longer here."

"Wherego?"

"His assignment to Foxguard was never meant to be more than temporary. He will not be returning, so if his possible presence is what has you ill at ease, rest assured you and your Abbey friends need worry about him no more. Foxguard is firmly back under my paw, and Jaffox will darken this part of Mossflower no more."

"Left foxfort? Not outside, with horde?"

"No. He is not outside."

"Hmhmm. Horde seembigger than lasttime."

"I don't know why that would be. Perhaps you misremember. Now, what brings you to Foxguard?"

Sourbill wasn't sure how to answer, since they were already discussing the very thing which had brought him here. Tolar's offputting evasiveness left little doubt that he no longer wished to dwell on the topic of Jaffox, or the Northland foxes, or the horde beyond his walls … all of which left the Sparra at something of a loss.

"Allwell at foxfort then?"

"Yes. Things here have taken a turn for the better of late, with Jaffox gone and out of our fur. Better than they've been in a season, in fact. The situation is looking up."

"Oh. Abbess thinks mightbe troubleworries. Sent me for looksee."

"Did she now? And why would the Abbess think such a thing? For that matter, how would she know how things fare at Foxguard, or what goes on here?"

Sourbill realized too late that he'd revealed too much, but was helpless to recall his words now. "Abbess has … worryfears. Concern for friendallies. Wants to besure all wellhere."

Some of the tension left Tolar's stance. "That is good. Neighbors should show concern for each other. Please tell the Abbess we appreciate her thoughtfulness, and of course reciprocate her sentiments by hoping all is well at Redwall. But, as you can see, we have returned to some sense of normalcy now that the main focus of the Purge has shifted to the south, and anticipate things remaining thus for the foreseeable future."

"So, Jaffoxfox gosouth, lowerMossflower?"

"Jaffox is no longer any concern of mine - or Redwall's."

Tolar's tone of abrupt finality let Sourbill know this discussion was over, at least as far as this topic. "Will let NessaAbbess know. Willbe … happynews, methink."

"Good. Now, can we get you anything to make you more comfortable after your long flight? Any food or drink, or a rest on soft cushions?"

In spite of all the Sword's assurances of things being better at Foxguard than they had in a long time, something about his offer of hospitality made Sourbill reluctant to accept. "Nothanks, thanksno. Must getback to Abbey, tell Nessamouse allgood here. Will be relieved."

"Ah. Well, again, thank you for your concern, friend. Safe journeying back to Redwall."

With a bob of his head, Sourbill spread his wings and took to the air once more. Tolar stood watching the sparrow go, not missing the fact that the bird made several low, crisscrossing passes over the horde encampment outside the north walls before turning west, over the Moss and toward Redwall.

"Sir," said Haddican, who along with the others had stood listening in on the conversation, "you never asked him whether or not Tratton plans to come to Foxguard."

"I very much doubt he knows, Hadds, since I'm sure he would have brought it up if he had. But no matter. If Tratton heads toward the Moss after departing Redwall, we'll see it from the tower, with plenty of time to prepare. Carry on." Tolar turned to head back inside, leaving the brigade to itself.

In light of the conversation with the Redwall bird, he wanted to seek out his mate at once. He and Mona had had numerous speculative discussions about the mysterious mouse Abbess, and now it was time once again to turn their thoughts to Vanessa, and her ties to the world beyond this one … of how she might see what went on at Foxguard, and how much of recent events she might already know, or have guessed.

 **REDWALL**

Vanessa took Sourbill's report with an air of subdued contemplation. Then she convened another meeting with Winokur up in the Infirmary - and this time, she made sure to include Maura and Colonel Clewiston as well.

For the benefit of the hare and badger, she began, "Earlier today I dispatched a Sparra to check on things at Foxguard, due to some misgivings I'd recently felt about that place. I've just spoken with our returned scout, and I am not sure what to make of it."

"That big brute Jaffox causin' more blinkin' mischief there?" Clewiston guessed.

"That's just it, Colonel. Jaffox appears to no longer be at Foxguard."

Maura and Clewiston and even Winokur all took this revelation as encouraging. "Well, that's good news, isn't it?" the Badgermum said, then her face darkened as she studied Vanessa's own concerned expression. "Unless he's on his way here? Or to the quarry?"

"I sense neither of those things," the mouse answered. "And that's just it: I don't sense Jaffox anywhere anymore. It's as if he's moved entirely beyond my perceptions, even in his vaguest essence - as if his threat has been removed from Mossflower altogether … to be replaced by another."

"Another threat?" Clewiston asked. "The Gawtrybe? His Bloodiness?"

"I honestly can't tell. But I find it worrying."

"Well," Winokur speculated, taking the optimistic viewpoint, "how clearly were you ever able to monitor that fox anyway? He was, after all, already at Foxguard before we learned of his presence in Mossflower. It could very well be that he's been redeployed to the south, where we know the Gawtrybe must be concentrating their current efforts with the Purge."

"Which would be bally good news for us, wot?" the Colonel added.

"If that were true, why didn't he take his foxes with him? Tolar hinted they were no longer at Foxguard either, yet Sourbill noticed on his initial approach that the valley horde outside Foxguard's walls seemed larger than usual … and upon leaving, he circled over the encampment more closely, and he's fairly certain he spotted the Northland foxes among the horde."

"Then that's where Jaffox must be too," said Maura. "Tolar kicked him and his ruffians out of Foxguard, and now they're out with that horde where they belong."

"Then why didn't Tolar just say that? Besides which, Sourbill saw no sign of Jaffox out amongst the horde … and that fox is rather hard to miss." Vanessa shook her head. "No, Tolar went out of his way to assure Sourbill that Jaffox will trouble none of us henceforth - that Sparra recited to me Tolar's exact words - and I can't imagine him using that choice of language if Jaffox merely lurked just beyond his walls."

Clewiston sniffed. "Maybe even Custis and Urthblood wised up to what a nasty piece of work Jaffox is, an' relieved him of his flippin' duties? We can always hope. wot? Maybe he's been sent packing right back up to the bloomin' Northlands again."

"Again, without his foxes? No, I don't see that. Something else has happened … something I sense has brought about a fundamental change at Foxguard. The thing is, I can't tell whether that change is for the better, or worse."

"Worse?" The Long Patrol hare's ears waggled. "Can't be for th' bally worse, if Jaffox is out of the place, an' out of our fur. Unless … " He gave Vanessa a grim stare. "You don't jolly well suppose … ?"

"Yes, Colonel, I fear there may have been violence. And since Tolar appears to still be in firm command of Foxguard, well, draw your own conclusions."

Worry crossed Winokur's face. "What of Mona? And Roxroy?"

"Roxroy is fine. Sourbill spoke with him. And Mona is … still there."

Maura raised an eyebrow at Vanessa's odd hesitation. "Are you sure, Nessa? You don't sound entirely convinced of that."

The mouse cracked a wan smile. "Trust me, if Mona went anywhere, I'd know it. That vixen's an odd one, no two ways around it, and I still don't have her entirely figured out. But I've no doubt that she's at the center of what's going on at Foxguard, every bit as much as Tolar is."

"Not too blinkin' surprising, that. Big bally question is, what does it mean for us now? Could this spell trouble for Redwall in any way?"

"Depends what you mean by trouble, Colonel. I sense no immediate peril - to us. But this morning Captain Redclaw stated his intent to press on to Foxguard before this day is out - and at this point, I don't think that's a very wise idea."

"What do you mean?" asked Winokur, who, unlike the others, knew the searat "captain's" true identity. "The searats travel abroad in Mossflower with Urthblood's permission. That would leave Tolar no choice but to welcome them to Foxguard. Unless … "

"Unless he no longer feels bound to obey Urthblood's bidding," Maura finished for the otter Recorder.

Clewiston pepped up at this prospect. "Well, that'd be a grand flappin' feather in our cap, wouldn't it? I mean, wasn't that wot you sought all along, marm - to drive a wedge 'tween Tolar an' Urthblood, an' drive him away from that badger toward us? Don't see any bad side to it for us, if that's wot's really goin' on."

"There's an old saying, Colonel: You can't do just one thing. If we do succeed in estranging Tolar from Urthblood, how will that estrangement manifest itself? What form will it take, how will it unfold, and what will the exact ramifications be? What might seem good for us on the face of it, in its simplest terms, could hold unforeseen complications. And the timing of our unexpected searat guests presents a whopper of a complication."

Clewiston snorted. "Still don't see why that's any of our concern. Sooner we're rid of that seascum the better, as I see it. An' if they're walking into the middle of some kind of stinkin' mess at Foxguard, that's their flippin' problem, isn't it?"

"That would be true, Colonel, if not for the fact that I have been engaged in negotiations with Captain Redclaw."

Clewiston and Maura gaped at Vanessa, perhaps or perhaps not noticing how Winokur failed to demonstrate similar surprise; given how Vanessa and Redclaw had invited the otter Recorder into their shared confidence since Nameday, the hare and badger had gained an inkling that Wink might be privy to some discussions which had not included them. "Wot … _kind_ of negotiations, marm?"

"Mutual nonaggression pact. A pledge and promise that Tratton would never engage in direct hostilities against Redwall, nor us against Terramort, no matter how Urthblood might manipulate the situation to bring about such a thing."

Maura and Clewiston digested this stunner. "And you think this would … benefit us?" the Badgermum asked.

"I do - mainly because it would take one of Urthblood's options off the table, and thus limit him. If he ever thought, or might think, to set Redwall and Tratton against each other for his own advantage, this would forestall such a strategy and leave him scrambling for another avenue of pursuit. And that can only be a good thing."

"'cept for one thing, marm," Clewiston weighed in. "Searats aren't to be trusted any more than Urthblood his own bally self, so what use is any such pact, hm? More worthless than the parchment it'd be scrawled on. Besides which, we're only treating with one of his seagog-swillin', barnacle-sucking lackeys. Tratton could easily say any agreement not signed by his own paw's null an' void when it suits him to do so, wot?"

"I suspect Captain Redclaw carries more authority with Tratton than you credit, Colonel. Leave the finer points of the negotiations to me. My worry now is that he'll depart from Redwall with our proposed pact unfulfilled, and never have the chance to return to complete our discussions."

Maura looked to Winokur. "And I take it from your attitude that you knew about all of this too?"

Wink gave a nod. "I did. And Vanessa left out that one of the points of negotiation has been the possible return of Latura."

"Which would redress a great wrong in which I was, admittedly and through necessity, partly complicit."

"Well, that's … something," Maura murmured.

Clewiston's whiskers twitched along with his ears. "Pardon my confusion, marm, but haven't I heard you say, an' more'n once too, that you _couldn't_ have that ratmaid coming back to the Abbey, because of the havoc her wild talently-thingummies would cause us?"

"Quite correct, Colonel - which is why we are treating for Latura's release, not necessarily her return to Redwall."

"But, where else would she go?" asked Maura. "Her only family is here, and they dare not venture beyond our walls unless they want to get grabbed up by the Gawtrybe."

"That too might change, if Tratton can be convinced to help put an end to the Purge."

"An' how blinkin' inclined do you think he'll be to do _that_? Even if we could convince that jolly redroger Tratton's sent us to convey those terms back to Terramort, who's to say that sea tyrant would have any of it - or would stick by any terms he did agree to?"

"We'd know," Vanessa said, "on the day Latura showed up at our gates again."

"An' if she never does, marm?"

"We have absolutely nothing to lose," Winokur asserted. "Tratton either abides by our agreement, or he doesn't. If he attacks us, we are freed to defend ourselves and strike back, just as we would in any event. But Latura will never win her freedom unless Tratton grants it to her, so this is at least worth a try."

"All of which will be rendered moot if the searats journey on to Foxguard and encounter some manner of misfortune there," said Vanessa.

"Why does Redclaw even want to go there if he's not finished with matters here?" Maura wondered. "Makes me think he's not taking your 'negotiations' very seriously - or else he doesn't think Tratton will."

"On the contrary," the Warrior Abbess maintained, "I think he takes them very seriously - which is precisely why he wishes to journey to Foxguard, to further gauge for himself just how deep and riven with enmity has become the divide between Redwall and Urthblood. He likely possesses no inkling that he might find division between Urthblood and Foxguard as well. I suspect he thinks to use any knowledge gained there to enhance his negotiating position with us, but I fear he might find something entirely different from what he's expecting."

"Which raises the possibility of an interesting scenario," said Winokur. "What if … Captain Redclaw does go to Foxguard and finds it estranged from Urthblood? Assuming that is in fact what's happened … "

"There are still Gawtrybe at Foxguard," Vanessa reminded them, "so whatever is in Tolar's heart and head regarding his badger master, he still has that restraint upon him, and dares not declare any dissatisfaction too openly, lest he meet with censure at the pointy tips of feathered shafts."

"Then what is Redclaw likely to see and learn, if Tolar must keep such feelings to himself?" asked Maura.

"It's not what he might learn, but what might befall him, which worries me," Vanessa replied.

"It's not like you can jolly well forbid him from going," Clewiston pointed out.

"Exactly, Colonel - which is why I'll be going with him."

The others, even Winokur, regarded her with surprised alarm. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Nessa?" Maura ventured.

"Whether or not it's a good idea has nothing to do with anything. Circumstances have made it necessary. Something has happened at Foxguard, something I fear may alter the entire complexion of the situation, and perhaps even shift the balance of powers in Mossflower. I must find out if I may what that is. I must see for myself - and I daresay my reasons for visiting that fox fortress now are far more compelling than those of Captain Redclaw, or any searat."

"Gotcher mind made up on this, do ya, marm?"

"Yes, Colonel, I do."

Clewiston straightened. "Then I guess the only question now is, who's going with you?"

"At this point I'm tempted to say anybeast who wants to, since I have no idea what I might be walking into. Redclaw has plenty of guards to see to his safety, and I'm sure the Gawtrybe who travel with him will also stand at his side in a crisis, but all the armed protectors in the world cannot always guard against treachery. In this respect, at least, I'd say I'm better equipped to meet the challenge of an uncertain Foxguard than they are. Obviously, we can't leave Redwall's defenses short-pawed, But I wouldn't think we'd want to bring along more than a token company of our own, otherwise too many questions might be raised."

Winokur seemed hesitant to speak his next words. "Do you think, perhaps … you should bring along the sword of Martin?"

"And show Tolar's foxes of all beasts - not to mention the searats and the Gawtrybe - what I can do with it? If I do that, the jig, as they say, will be up. On the other paw … maybe I will bring my sword with me - but with Montybank as its official bearer, to deflect attention from me. It would take a dire turn of events indeed for me to take it up myself, but at least this way it would be there with me should I need it."

"I'm still not sure about this, Nessa," Maura fretted. "Between surrounding yourself with searats and Gawtrybe, and what you fear may be happening at Foxguard, I see so much that could go wrong … "

Vanessa greeted the badger's concerns with a confident smile. "I had fully meant to visit Foxguard last season, and was almost there, even to the other side of the Moss. But Jaffox denied me. This time, no matter what else happens, at least we know Jaffox won't be stopping me!"


	83. Chapter LXXXII

**LXXXII.**

 **MOSSFLOWER**

Tibball's timing proved awkwardly opportune.

The rabbit Ambassador of Foxguard had, upon his departure from the vulpine fortress, arrived at the quarry only to find that Nameday was almost upon them, and that none of the Abbeybeasts, Guosim or former slaves camped at the rock mine had any intention of spending a large portion of their celebratory day ferrying and escorting their unexpected guest to Redwall. Thus did Tibball spend his first night at the quarry, waking the next morning to welcome the Abbey's seasonal observance in the company of all the voluntarily-exiled laborers.

The rabbit quickly came to realize that so many of his reservations about this barren place sprang from how his one and only prior visit to the quarry had been colored by the somewhat dire circumstances of the event. This time, he was not the unwilling captive of desperate rats, thrust into the middle of their tense standoff with hostile shrews and otters. Instead, he found a quarry fully opened, its myriad woodland workers joined together in a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose that pervaded the rock pit and made it almost a cheerful place, if not a particularly luxurious or comfortable one.

That lightness of mood lightened further as Nameday got fully underway. Geoff and Vanessa and Friar Hugh, mindful of those who could not be present at Redwall for the celebration, took measures to ensure that the quarrybeasts did not feel forgotten or neglected on this day of high festivities by having the Sparra fly out to them bearing prepared delicacies for the occasion, along with the ingredients to prepare even more themselves on the spot. The birds were obviously limited in what they could carry, so full-sized cakes and pies and main entrees were out of the question, but that still left room for plenty of candied nuts and other easily-carried sweets, along with dried fruits and spices to perk up and enliven their normally drab fare, and even a few small cheeses, of which the quarriers had none. Thus were the Guosim able to accent their usual shrewcakes with apple, pear and berries along with flavorful infusions of cinnamon and honey and chopped nuts while the moles, using a cauldron they'd brought along with them from the Abbey, used local ingredients to whip up one of their legendary deeper'n'ever pies in a stone oven erected for the occasion. The otters, not to be outdone, used a cauldron of their own to brew a batch of their famous - or infamous, depending on one's tastes - shrimp and hotroot soup, enough for everybeast there to partake of a brimful bowl if they chose … and for some to have seconds if a few of their tender-palated companions refrained from sampling any at all.

But this wasn't all the Abbey leaders sent the quarry's way. A third copy of the seasonal benediction, in addition to the one Geoff read in Great Hall and the one Winokur recited out on the lawns to the rat refugees, was flown out to the work site and read aloud prior to the meal … and if those reading duties fell to Foremole as the seniormost Abbeybeast present, well, that only rendered the event all that more unique.

By the time it was all over, with the Guosim and otters locked in competing shanties while some of the former slaves pulled out their various musical instruments and sent up lively tunes as others danced to the merry melodies, Tibball felt almost as if he actually was at Redwall.

And he had no issues or qualms about spending a second night at the quarry, since nobeast was of a mind to curtail their celebrations to undertake such a journey … and, truth be told, neither was he.

Somehow, that second night turned into a third, and then a fourth. Tibball could plainly see that everybeast around him, once they'd shaken off the happy lethargy of their celebration day, reapplied themselves to their labors with dedicated resolve, eager to push forward with their endeavor, and he hesitated to ask even a pawful of them to pry themselves away from their work on his account. Besides, another cartload of cut and shaped stone was due to be sent off in another day or two, and Tibball agreed with the otters who would bear it to the Abbey that it made abundant good sense for him to wait until he could accompany them, so as not to put anybeast out overmuch. In the meantime, in perhaps his capacity as Foxguard's Ambassador, he satisfied himself with observing the operations of the quarry, as impressed by the scale of the undertaking as he was by the friendly spirit pervading the work site, making him feel welcome even when he knew he should have felt like a useless hangabout.

If he harbored any qualms at all about tarrying here, they centered around remaining on the same side of the River Moss as Jaffox. While he trusted that events at Foxguard would keep the big vulpine too occupied to go causing trouble in the wider lands, there was always the chance Tolar could expel the Northlanders from his stronghold, leaving them free to wander where their malicious whims took them - even to the quarry itself, if they were of a mood to harass honest goodbeasts. Perhaps Redwall's reputation of capable self-defense - along with the Guosim's reputation for cantankerousness - would be enough to warn them away, but where Jaffox was concerned, the potential for confrontation and conflict could not be discounted. Tibball withheld from his hosts the worst of what currently went on at Foxguard - including Sappakit's suspicious demise - so as not to worry them unduly. That they knew about Jaffox at all, this news shared with them by the Abbey Sparra, was enough to keep them on the alert and prepared for any incursion by the barbaric brute, and that was good enough for the rabbit.

Then again, the news of searats at the Abbey left Tibball feeling somewhat like he was caught between the worst of both worlds, and dulled his eagerness to return to Redwall forthwith. Jaffox at his back, and seavermin before him … and that made the quarry seem like an even warmer and more welcoming place than before, where he was quite content to while away his days with minimal fear of running into vermin and nasty sorts.

But at last he could put it off no longer. The next cartload of stone was loaded and ready for delivery, its haulers eager to be off and have this job behind them, and if Tibball didn't wish to delay until the next river crossing after this one, he would have to depart with them. And so, after a fortifying breakfast of shrewcakes considerably less delectable than those prepared for Nameday, their party was off, six stout otters pushing and pulling the heavy cart along the rutted path to the Moss while a small detachment of Guosim marched along with them. Upon reaching the riverbank they rolled the cart right out onto one of the waiting rafts, whereupon shrews and otters punted and paddled the simple craft across the currents to the opposite shore. There, in keeping with the new transport system initiated by the Abbey leaders, they found an empty cart awaiting them. As the otters heaved the loaded wagon ashore and struck out through the woods toward Redwall, the Guosim rolled the replacement vehicle onto their raft and rowed it back across so that it could be taken right back to the quarry to accept the next load of stone.

Even burdened as they were (and Tibball was certainly in no position to hasten them along with any muscle of his own he could contribute), they made excellent time, drawing within sight of the Abbey shortly after noontide … and it was at that moment that Tibball saw his timing was both far more and less opportune than he might have wished.

Arrayed outside the open east wallgate stood Tratton's entire travelling company of thirty searats, along with all of Sergeant Poinsett's Gawtrybe and quite a number of other creatures besides. Tibball quailed at the sight of so many rats and squirrels, neither of whom he particularly wanted anything to do with if he could avoid it. He perked up a bit upon realizing they appeared to be assembled for departure, and would thus be nobeasts he'd need to spend more than the briefest time with. And it could have been worse, he sought to assure himself, if not entirely successfully; he could have encountered them some way out from Redwall, in the middle of the forest without any Abbeybeasts other than the otter cart-bearers to stand with him against a minor horde of seavermin and grim, hard-hearted squirrel archers who were currently no friends of Redwall. As it was, the nearness of those comforting dusky walls and the presence of so many friendly woodlanders helped soothe his qualms, if only a little.

After a few cursory words of greeting exchanged with the Abbot and Abbess and Skipper Montybank, the quarry otters continued on around the outside of the Abbey walls with their load, taking it to the construction site where it was needed. That left the Redwall leadership free to turn their attention to the more diminutive, long-eared visitor.

"Ah, good Tibball!" Geoff said in welcome, coming out away from the rats and Gawtrybe to greet the rabbit. "Our Sparra let us know you were at the quarry, but we expected you before this. No trouble, I trust?"

"Not at all, Abbot. I decided it made sense to wait until your fine otters would be striking out for the Abbey with their delivery of stone, so as to avoid having anybeast there make a special trip on my account. And it did allow me to enjoy Nameday with them, and rest and relax for a couple of days after that as well."

"Ah, all for the best then, I suppose. I gather you were all able to enjoy your own Nameday festivities at the quarry, with the help of what we sent along?"

"Oh, yes, Abbot. Since I've never observed a Nameday at the Abbey itself, perhaps I couldn't fully appreciate what I was missing here … although I'm sure you didn't have a mole reciting the blessing of Redwall."

Geoff's brow furrowed. "Oh dear. I suppose Foremole would have taken that role upon himself, wouldn't he? I do hope his reading wasn't too … indecipherable?"

"Well, ah, he is a fine, upstanding fellow of a mole, as you well know, but the truth is, most of us had to pass the parchment around afterwards to figure out what it all said. I'm afraid I'd have to spend a fair few seasons around those folk to fully pick up the knack for Molespeech. So, Summer of All Welcome Beasts, is it?" Tibball's gaze went to the Gawtrybe and the searats, who stood eyeing him curiously. " _All_ beasts, Abbot?"

"Captain Redclaw travels the lands with the permission of Lord Urthblood, in the company of that badger's Gawtrybe. The captain has been our guest these past few days, and now prepares to journey on to Foxguard."

Vanessa stepped forward at this mention of the fox fortress to stand alongside Geoff. "Yes, we were hoping you could tell us more about what's been going on there."

"Ah, yes, well, it's been some days since I was last there, you know, so my news of the place isn't exactly current. You, um, know about Jaffox, I take it?"

Geoff and Vanessa shared a nod. "We know about Jaffox," the Abbess said somberly.

"Well, he and Sword Tolar have been at loggerheads ever since those Northlanders arrived late last season … and then there's that whole horde outside the walls … and the vixens too … " Tibball refrained from mentioning the death of Sappakit, just as he had at the quarry; if these good folk weren't aware of that foul deed already, he'd not darken their day further by bringing it up. "When I left, Tolar had just expelled that big bully from Foxguard over their … disagreements … but Jaffox was still tarrying outside with the horde, so I honestly have no idea whether he's still there or not."

The outlandishly-appointed and appropriately-named Redclaw inserted himself into the conversation at this point. "What's this I'm hearin' 'bout a horde? An' who's this Jaffox?"

Vanessa answered, "A Northlands commander of Urthblood's he called down to help with the Purge in Mossflower, to expedite the roundup of woodland rats to be sent off to King Tratton. And the horde of which friend Tibball speaks is a local vermin group recently recruited to Urthblood's service. Apparently they're good enough to be put under arms by that badger, but not good enough to be allowed inside Foxguard proper."

"Well, there _are_ space issues involved as well," Tibball put in.

Geoff sighed. "Yes, we well know what _those_ are like."

The rabbit brightened. "At least you'll soon have Freetown, and a place for all your former slaves to reside outside the Abbey! That should solve at least some of your overcrowding problems!"

"Freetown?" Redclaw raised an eyebrow. "So that's what ye'll be callin' it? A home fer all yer freed slaves, hm? No wonder ev'rybeast 'round 'ere was so shy an' tight-lipped 'bout discussin' it."

Tibball blanched, the idea never having occurred to him that the Redwallers might have sought to keep Freetown's true nature and purpose a secret from the searats. "Oh, uh, erm … "

"Don't worry about it, Tibball," Vanessa reassured the rabbit. "Captain Redclaw almost surely would have learned of Freetown eventually, either from the local Gawtrybe guarding the approaches to and from Redwall, or at Foxguard. This was no secret ever meant to be kept indefinitely … although we had some fun with the Captain while it lasted, keeping the answers just out of reach."

"More concerned with that horde, just at th' moment," Redclaw said. "You wager they're like t' cause me any trouble?"

"Well you'd have to ask them that, wouldn't you?" Vanessa replied airily, taking in all the searats and squirrels arrayed to escort the disguised Searat King. "However, considering they're reputed to be more typical vermin rabble and nowhere near trained up to Urthblood's usual standards, I'd say your force here would face no challenge in putting them in their place if they step out of line."

"An' would that also be why ye're insistin' on comin' along yer own self, Abbess?"

Tibball looked to Vanessa with some concern. "Is that true, ma'am? That you're going to Foxguard along with all these … uh, along with the rest of these creatures?"

"Indeed I am, along with Skipper Montybank and Kurdyla here. Since I'm just one mouse, I trust I'll need no more than two stout otters to keep me safe - especially since one's as strong as a badger, and the other carries the sword of Martin!"

The rabbit looked to Clewiston and Traveller, who'd turned out for this farewell but had thus far stood back and let the Abbey mice do all the talking. "No hares, ma'am? I'd have thought you'd want at least one of those sharp-eyed, fleet-footed Long Patrol with you for such an excursion, no?"

"I figured that with you due to arrive at our home someday soon, we'd not want to deprive you of even one hare more than we could offer you, knowing your fondness for our long-eared defenders. We must always do the best that we can for our guests, mustn't we?"

Sergeant Poinsett was heard to grumble something under her breath at this remark, but not even Clewiston or Traveller could pick out the exact words - or perhaps they could, from the smug and satisfied looks on the two hares' faces.

"So," said Redclaw, "we gettin' underway, or 're we just gonna stand 'round 'ere lettin' th' day grow old?"

Geoff stepped over to Vanessa, taking her paws in his own and pitching his voice for her alone. "I'm still not sure why you feel the need to go to Foxguard with these searats and Gawtrybe, Nessa, but you seem to think it necessary, so I'll leave that to you, just as I've left Redclaw mostly to you during his time here with us. I will only implore you to be careful, and come back to us safely before too many days."

"I will do my best to make that happen, Geoff, and take comfort in knowing I leave Redwall in the capable paws of you and our stalwart defenders during my absence."

If Geoff noticed that the Abbess sounded as if she were delegating her authority to him, he was too tactful to call her on it. "It's a pity we couldn't pin Captain Redclaw down on anything more definite regarding the status of Mossflower's rats, but I suppose he's not totally free to make agreements on his own. We can at least hope he bears our concerns directly to Tratton, and that they will reach that Searat King's ears."

"Of that, I have no doubt," she assured her Abbot.

Maura and Winokur had turned out for these farewells as well, but contented themselves with standing back and looking on with wordless encouragement; they'd already said to Vanessa in private everything they had to say.

The green-robed Abbess broke off from her brown-robed counterpart and turned to Redclaw. "Right you are, Captain. If we dawdle here too much longer, we'll not make Foxguard before nightfall. Let us be on our way."

In very short order the threescore rats and squirrels were off, marching through the midday woods with Vanessa and the two Abbey otters at their head. Harpreet, Skytop and Brybag fluttered and swooped overhead through the branches in aerial escort, determined to see the travelling company most of the way to the Moss if not all the way to Foxguard itself, and soon the entire procession was lost to view among the trees.

"Well," Geoff remarked, "it might not be the most charitable or hospitable attitude for an Abbot of Redwall to take, but I must say in all honesty I am glad to be rid of those beasts."

Clewiston twitched his whiskers in wry amusement. "So, guess you could say in this Summer of All Welcome Beasts that some're more jolly welcome than others, wot?"

Geoff ignored this mild jab at his choice of a name for this season, turning to the rabbit. "So, good Tibball, have you any idea how long you'll be staying with us this time?"

"Well, that would depend on what happens at Foxguard, Abbot, wouldn't it?"

 **FOXGUARD**

All the recent tumultuous events at Foxguard had left Mona feeling somewhat drained and exhausted. So, as the weasels carried on with their labors of emptying the vitriol tub out into the canal even as Kyslith commenced preparations for distilling a fresh batch of the corrosive fluid, the healer vixen excused herself and made her way up to her third-floor quarters to have a bit of an afternoon lie down.

Tolar was nowhere to be seen, keeping himself busy with the oversight of both his own foxes and weasels, the horde outside their walls, and relations with Collijack's Gawtrybe. With the bedchamber all to herself, Mona stretched out on top of the covers and had soon drifted off into peaceful, rejuvenating slumbers.

" _Let … me … in … "_

In the midst of dreams not yet fully formed, Mona rose up in her mind to greet this familiar spectral visitor, a flood of warm joy suffusing her being. _Is it … you … ?_

" _Sister … of the red tower … hear me … "_

 _I hear you! It has worked! Jaffox and Joska are dead! Foxguard is saved!_

" _Not … yet … saved … not yet … secure. More danger will you face … "_

 _Danger? From whom? From where?_

" _Approaches … even now, approaches … "_

 _Who? The Gawtrybe? Is it Custis, come to challenge Tolar about Jaffox?_

" _The Rat King. The Rat King draws near … "_

 _Tratton? Tratton is coming to Foxguard?_

" _Kill the Rat King … you must … "_

Stunned mental silence. Then … _Kill Tratton?_

" _Danger to the red tower. Danger to our sister, to foxes of the blade … "_

 _Tratton is a danger to Tolar's brigade? How? I don't understand …_

" _Slay him you must. For both our sakes … "_

 _What does he plan? Why would he seek to harm Foxguard? How could he think to …_

Then a terrible thought occurred to Mona in the middle of this not-quite-dream. Perhaps it was her own thought, and perhaps not.

 _Did Urthblood send Tratton here? To murder Tolar, and make it look like a searat plot so Urthblood could claim no part in it? Will this be his way to remove us from power, and install leadership here more to his liking?_

" _Kill … the Rat King … you must, sister. It is… most vital … "_

Then Mona's world started to shake and shudder.

Her eyes fluttered open, squinted against the cruel daylight intruding upon her interrupted communion. Face twisted and scrunched up against the double indignity of this rude awakening and the connection lost, she looked up into the worried features of her mate.

Tolar regarded her with deep concern. "Mona, are you all right? You seemed … stricken in your slumbers when I came in."

Her eyes met his, and her gaze held blank fright. "My … sister … just spoke to me again."

The Sword's expression turned from worried to surprised. "And … what did she have to say?"

"I … I must think on it before I share it." Mona levered herself up off the mattress and swung her legs over the side of the bed to sit fully upright, even as Tolar continued to crouch at her side, monitoring her well-being. "It was very much the same as before … but also very different. I am not sure what it portends."

"Is there any way I can help? Anything I can do for you?"

She shook her head in cobwebbed-brained languor. "No … no, I'll be fine. I just need some time, to reflect on this on my own."

"As you say." Tolar rose fully to his footpaws. "I will be quite busy elsewhere. I sought you out because the high watch has spotted Tratton's company departing from Redwall and heading in our direction. If they take the most direct route, they should be here by evening."

 **MOSSFLOWER**

With Vanessa, Montybank and Kurdyla at their head, Tratton and Poinsett's party struck out along trails leading due east from the Abbey.

"It will take us longer to reach the Moss this way," Vanessa explained, "but when we do emerge on its banks, we'll be directly across from Foxguard. Then our hosts will be able to ferry us right across the river to their stronghold. It's the most direct route, and should save us time in the long run."

"These are your woods, Abbess," conceded the Gawtrybe sergeant, still somewhat uncertain and not entirely happy that any Redwallers at all had decided to join them for this leg of their journey. "We'll abide by your best judgment."

"Our woods?" Vanessa said in mock surprise. "So gratifying to hear a beast of your persuasion acknowledge that simple truth, since so many of your fellow Gawtrybe have spent the last season trying to convince us that _they_ own Mossflower."

Tratton/Redclaw gave a half-stifled, guttural guffaw at this putdown, while Poinsett merely clenched her teeth and held her silence.

A fewscore paces later, Lieutenant Chetwynd and three of his companion scouts dropped out of the trees onto the path before them. Vanessa gave a wry frown of distaste. "Well well, speak of the red-furred devil. If it isn't everybeast's favorite squirrel."

Ignoring the mouse and her otter escorts, Chetwynd walked up to Poinsett. "I see you've decided to set out for Foxguard after all, Sergeant. And that you have … Redwallers travelling with you."

"The Abbess decided for some reason that it was important she accompany us. And since Redwall maintains good relations with Tolar's brigade, I deemed her presence might prove advantageous."

"Still, I'm not sure you should have allowed it."

Vanessa cocked an irate ear Chetwynd's way, while Monty and Kurdyla stood wearing expressions of affront. "Excuse me, what was that, Sergeant Chetwynd?"

Now it was the recently-promoted officer's turn to frown as Chetwynd regarded the mouse. "That's 'lieutenant,' Abbess."

Vanessa let sip an impish smile. "Oh is it now? That will be useful to remember. But as I was just discussing with Sergeant Poinsett here, these are our woods, and nobeast tells us where we may or may not go in them."

Chetwynd scowled. "That does not hold true where official matters regarding Lord Urthblood's mandates apply …. and they most certainly apply to this expedition."

Vanessa clapped one paw to her face in theatrical chagrin. "Oh yes, this expedition! How remiss of me to overlook the proper introductions … " She turned to Tratton/Redclaw. "Captain, allow me to introduce Chetwynd, Gawtrybe of changeable rank. At least he's rank with us Redwallers. He delights in slaying rats. I'd watch yourself around him; he's liable as not to put an arrow in your back when you're not looking."

Now all the searats stared Chetwynd's way, Tratton in startled surprise, Talarek in tensed alarm, and the rest of the rat guard standing at the ready to defend their disguised sovereign. Chetwynd squirmed under their suspicion scrutiny and opened his mouth to protest, but Poinsett came to his defense first.

"The Abbess speaks frivolously, dangerously, and in very poor taste and judgment. No Gawtrybe in Mossflower will seek to harm you or your rats, Your … Captain. We are bound by Lord Urthblood's mandate to guard you with our lives, if necessary."

"Even this one?" Vanessa waved a paw Chetwynd's way. "Tell us, how many rats have you killed since arriving in Mossflower, Sergeant?"

"It's 'lieutenant,'" Chetwynd bit off.

"It wasn't when you murdered four innocent travellers in the care of our own Forest Patrol - four blameless rats who now lie in graves outside our Abbey walls."

"No rats are innocent!" Chetwynd burst in exasperation.

Tratton's face darkened. "Ex _cuse_ me?"

"Uh, I meant, no rat seeking to escape out campaign is innocent," the put-on-the-spot squirrel stammered. "Their very attempts at eluding us brand them as fugitives, and far from blameless, as the Abbess would paint them."

"No," Vanessa assessed haughtily, "I think you spoke your true feelings the first time You see now, Captain Redclaw, why Sergeant Chetwynd here is one of the most popular and beloved squirrels in Mossflower. The kind of beast who gives the Gawtrybe a bad name in these parts - although he's far from the only one."

Chetwynd took Poinsett aside and whispered, "Do they know who Redclaw really is?"

"The Abbess does … I think. I'm not sure about the otters. But either way, we have to maintain the masquerade. But for now I think it might be best if you withdraw, Lieutenant. The Abbess has seen to it that you've raised tensions with the searats, and that's … counterproductive."

Chetwynd stood mortified at being so admonished by a comrade of lower rank, a newcomer to these woods he'd patrolled for the better part of a season. In a fit of pique, he turned back to the company and announced, "My squirrels and I will cover your progress between here and the river. This will provide added security to you in your travels. Before you proceed, however … " He marched over to Montybank, standing defiantly before the otter with his paw out. "We cannot allow you to wander abroad in our jurisdiction so openly armed. Your blade, please."

The otter Skipper boggled at this bald audacity, a clear attempt by Chetwynd to re-establish his authority in the wake of Vanessa's belittlement. "Hey, now, wait - "

"I'm afraid you can't do that, Lieutenant."

The mouse's use of his correct rank got Chetwynd's attention. "And why is that, Abbess?"

"Because that is the Sword of Martin."

"So?"

"If you touch it, you will die."

Chetwynd regarded her as if she were to be pitied. "Because some magical force protects that blade?" he derided.

"No," she answered calmly, "because if you assail my companion to wrest that blade from him by force, I will use it to take your head off myself. And nobeast here will be able to stop me."

Everybeast simply stood staring at Vanessa in stunned silence, gleaning from her tone that she was entirely serious.

"And," she added as further warning, "should you precipitate any such violence, I very much suspect Captain Redclaw's rats would be on my side - and perhaps Sergeant Poinsett's squad as well. Would you like to find out?"

"Lieutenant," Poinsett implored, "I am in charge of this expedition, and I gave leave for these Abbeybeasts to accompany us - as they are. Stand down, please."

Vanessa fairly winked at Chetwynd. "Well, there's your answer."

The Gawtrybe lieutenant's tail lashed furiously, betraying his efforts to hide his frustration as the three Redwallers stood their ground staring him down, and the members of Poinsett's and Tratton's party looked on with clear disfavor. At last he stepped back, glowering darkly. "We'll be covering you from the trees, Sergeant," he bit off, and then at a paw signal his trio of scouts followed him back up into the forest canopy, where they were quickly lost to the sight of all but the sharpest eye.

"Well, that was a nice little visit, wasn't it?" Vanessa declared, brushing her palms together. "Now, shall we be on our way again?"

As the procession resumed its march toward Foxguard, Kurdyla worried aloud, "I hope they don't trouble us no more, marm."

"Oh, they were barely any trouble in the first place … even though that nasty lieutenant has, at this very moment, a shaft nocked to his bowstring and aimed right at my back."

The two otters glanced up into the branches in alarm, and even Tratton and Poinsett, close enough to overhear, did so as well.

"Don't worry, he'll not dare shoot," Vanessa went on. "Even that blustery fool knows better than to loose a shaft at the unarmed Abbess of Redwall. He's just indulging in a little wish fulfillment. He'll get over it."

"But he will remember the slight, Abbess," Poinsett warned.

"Good," the mouse said, choosing to take the Gawtrybe sergeant's caution in a different light. "I hope he does."

"Still, y' took a chance there, invokin' us in yer standoff," Tratton told her. "You couldn't know we'd stand along with ye if it came t' blows, an' wouldn't just hang back t' see how it all turned out."

"Oh, Captain, I think I've gotten to know you well enough to guess what you might do in such a situation. After all the conversations we've had together, I trust there's a bond between us that goes at least that far. Besides, just at the moment you stand to gain more from Redwall than you do from the Gawtrybe."

While Poinsett regarded Vanessa with puzzlement over this statement, Tratton responded, "What I expect t' get from th' Gawtrybe is t' get out of Mossflower alive. How's yer Abbey gonna top that?"

"Hopefully, we won't have to."

"But, wouldja really o' done it, marm?" Kurdyla pressed. "Slain th' 'tenant if he'd tried t' take Martin's sword from Skipper?"

"Yes. He would have been asking for it. And this close to Redwall, there are some indignities I simply will not suffer. Not anymore."

"That would have led to a very ugly scene, Abbess," Poinsett said, still not entirely accepting the idea of an Abbess mouse capable of such violence and aggression.

"In this company?" Vanessa glanced around her. "No, I think I would have gotten away with it. Only Chetwynd's three companions might have come to his aid, and I was counting on the rest of you to hold them in check if they did."

The female squirrel regarded her coldly. "You sound like you had it all figured out."

"As I said, we are still close to Redwall - close enough for Martin to inform my actions and lend me his foresight … and guide my paw, if need be."

They marched on in silence for some time after that, each keeping to their own thoughts … and Montybank shooting occasional glances his old friend's way, perhaps wondering what had happened to the caring and nurturing mouse he'd known since he was a pup.

 **GAWDREY**

"So, what will you do?"

Custis stood in the uppermost branches of Gawdrey, staring north toward the soaring red tower of Foxguard, sharp and brilliant in the summer sunshine. Lady Mina clung to the limbs alongside him, seeking to know the Gawtrybe commander's mind.

"Those were Lord Urthblood's soldiers," the male squirrel all but growled in his consternation.

"They were Jaffox's henchbeasts," Mina countered. "And Jaffox tried to kill Tolar."

"So Tolar claims. Sergeant Collijack reported that something about the entire situation strikes him as not quite right. Even if Jaffox did move against Tolar, his squad might not have had a paw in that treachery … and with their leader slain, Tolar had them directionless and at his mercy. To slay them as he did, and then demote the rest, expel them from Foxguard and put them under the command of a former horde leader only recently recruited to Lord Urthblood's cause … he has overstepped himself this time, and by far more than I'd have ever imagined."

"And yet the conflict stands resolved, if not in a way we might think ideal. No more does a power struggle at Foxguard muddy the waters and complicate the situation. Matters have clarified, allowing for more direct action now that we know exactly how this crisis between foxes has played out."

"Redeploying Jaffox and his squad from Foxguard to Gawdrey could have achieved the same thing."

"Jaffox was the one who chose to ignore your summons so he could tangle with Tolar. I'd say that reveals how dedicated he was to our cause on the whole."

"Unless his secret orders really were to replace Tolar as head of Foxguard."

"In which case he did a damn poor job of carrying out those orders, and probably got what he deserved with his poor choice of treacherous tactics."

"Even so, for all his faults, Jaffox could have been most useful to us under the present circumstances. With the withdrawal of the gulls from Mossflower, his squad would have made a valuable addition to our own squirrels."

"So? Summon down what's left of his squad. I'm sure Tolar would be glad to be rid of them, and I imagine they'd be most relieved to get away from that place after everything that's happened."

"Without Jaffox to command them? They'd only be half as effective than they were with him at their fore."

"Then request that some of that horde accompany them, so those ruffians can finally be put to some good use. Or request the entire horde, for that matter. I very much doubt Tolar would protest, seeing as how he already makes them camp outside his walls."

"Yes … yes, perhaps." Custis kept his gaze firmly fixed upon the red tower. "I am torn, Lady. I feel I am being pulled in three directions at once: to the south, where we must extend the resettlement campaign as soon as we possibly can; to the west, where Redwall and the Long Patrol likely conspire to hide an unknown number of fugitives from us in flagrant violation of the Accord; and to the north to Foxguard, where it seems Tolar seeks to become a law unto himself. All infuse me with equal urgency, but I can only be in one place at a time. What should be my priority? What should take precedence, and what should I let lie for now?"

"I think Tolar has helped make that decision for you. He has asserted his uncontested command over Foxguard, and that is an accomplished fact. We will simply have to deal with him now, on his terms, and work with him as best we can."

"His terms? He doesn't get to set terms, Lady. We all serve Lord Urthblood, and in case you'd forgotten, Foxguard has become the key transit point for getting our detainees off to the coast. That casts Foxguard as more crucial than ever. What if Tolar decides he's no longer willing to cooperate with us in this area? He's made no secret of the fact that he's held this entire campaign in disdain right from the start."

"He has given no indication of any intent to do so, and until he does, we must assume he remains our equal partner in this endeavor. It could be that after having to deal with Jaffox, he'll find working with us a relief by comparison."

"And what if it has the opposite effect?" Custis countered. "What if he's now suspicious and antagonistic toward anything to do with this campaign as a result of what's happened?"

"Then we have Jaffox to thank for this fine state of affairs."

"Assuming Jaffox truly did try to klll Tolar, and it wasn't all some ruse our good Sword cooked up to rid himself of an inconvenience. And let us not forget Lord Urthblood called Jaffox down from the Northlands. If you think to lay this at Jaffox's feet, you'll also be laying it at our Lord's feet as well."

"That's … overstating things a bit, I think."

"Tolar might not see it that way."

Mina sighed. "So, what will you do?"

"As far as Foxguard and Tolar go? I suppose I have no choice but to heed your counsel, and wait to see what he does next. Too much else demands my attention. For now, I think I will take your suggestion and send for Jaffox's remaining squad to assist us in our own efforts. But after his latest actions, I am left no choice but to consider Tolar to be out of warnings. He has one more chance, Lady, one more chance to assure us we have no reason to doubt him, to do nothing to make us question his fitness to command. Either he puts all of this behind him and acquits himself as the willing partner we need now, or else his days as Foxguard's Sword will be at an end, and I will see to it myself to make sure that happens."


End file.
